Inquisitor Carrow and the GodEmperorless Heathens
by littlewhitecat
Summary: The Wizarding World is devastated when Harry Potter disappears from his relatives' house in mysterious circumstances during the summer after his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Desperate to have their boy-hero back no matter what they really should have heeded the Muggle saying "be careful what you wish for". Crossover HP/WH40K.
1. Chapter 1

This is my very first attempt at a fan fiction, you are warned! This particular plot-bunny refused to leave me alone so I finally decided to pick up my pen and write it down more in an attempt to make go away than anything else. I last did any creative writing in 1994 when I wrote a story about a squirrel and a cat for my GCSE English Lit exam so I make no claims as to the quality of my writing.

Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who have a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.

Yes, it is a cross-over but set mainly in the Potter-verse.

Inquisitor Carrow and the God Emperor-less Heathens

Chapter 1

Harry Potter curled up tighter on the ratty old mattress. Outside, beyond the small window and the security bars, the sun beat down on neat suburban lawns. The distant sound of shouting children and a lone electric lawn mower drifted through the open window. It had only been several weeks earlier that a rogue house elf had appeared in his bedroom and caused havoc resulting in Harry being locked indefinitely in his room, bars installed on his window, and a cat-flap in the bedroom door. Occasionally, he'd be allowed out to go to the bathroom, and occasionally his aunt Petunia would push a bowl of cold soup through the cat-flap so he could eat.

The lack of food was slowly causing him to lose weight, strength and hope, but, being a boy with a big heart he was more concerned with his pet Snowy Owl Hedwig. Harry's uncle Vernon had padlocked Hedwig in her cage at the beginning of the holiday and steadfastly refused to listen to any and all of his loathed nephew's pleas to let her out. Hedwig had taken to sitting in the bottom of her cage over the last few days and Harry was getting very concerned. His normally lively and opinionated owl was increasingly listless and unresponsive. He was becoming very worried that she was going to die, and then he was going to be trapped in this small room full of Dudley's broken junk with the decaying corpse of his beloved familiar. He wondered how long it would be before he followed her, slowly fading away due to lack of food and water.

As the sun sunk below the horizon leaving sweltering, sticky heat and insect filled air Harry began to pray, to anything that was listening, for escape, for release from the slow death that he was certain was going to be his lot. As midnight approached and he slowly drifted into a delirious, nightmare filled haze something answered. The small, shabby room was filled with an eerie blue glow as little Harry was transported somewhere very different.

OOOOOO

Somewhere in the depths of CERN, Geneva, Switzerland, a professor of particle physics looked up from perusing some of the latest data. "Hmm, that was strange..." he murmured to himself, before going back to his work.

OOOOOO

In a castle in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands a silver and intricate instrument started whistling; soon many more joined it vibrating along their shelves or on their stands as they broadcast their distress to the circular office, its only current occupant a large and particularly magnificent phoenix.

Albus Dumbledore woke with a start at the awful racket straight into one of his worst nightmares. Racing out into his office in nothing but his nightshirt it became clear that indeed his worst nightmare had somehow come to pass. The wards at Privet Drive had fallen. Multiple scenarios raced through the old man's mind, each worst then the last, Harry kidnapped, run away or the absolute unthinkable, the brave young boy dead.

Quickly rounding up his deputy Minerva McGonagall and the very grumpy potions master, Severus Snape, they quickly flooed to the residence of Arabella Figg just a street away from the home of Harry's Aunt and Uncle.

Dumbledore strode along the sodium illuminated pavement expecting to see a smoking hole instead of No. 4 Privet Drive. Instead the house looked completely peaceful, neat and tidy and virtually identical to its neighbours. The old man heaved a sigh of relief. At least some of his worst worries were now calmed. "Well at least the worst doesn't seem to have happened," Dumbledore quietly said as he turned to his colleagues "Though I think we should still check inside to see if Harry is safe". McGonagall nodded in agreement but the increasingly irritated potions professor couldn't contain himself any longer.

"Headmaster, the little brat has probably just had a silly little temper tantrum. Maybe his relatives took his favourite toy away. I'm sure we will find the spoilt little toad as healthy and insolent as ever." He scowled horribly at his colleagues, resenting being woken up in the wee hours of the morning and dragged all across the country, just for the Potter spawn.

Dumbledore and McGonagall sighed at the resentment towards the last Potter that rolled off the man. A quiet Alohomora and they quickly gained entry to the sleeping house. A quick look around the ground-floor of the house revealed nothing apparently wrong. The house was very neat, obsessively so, to the point of sterility. The house had an almost show-room quality to it, as if nobody lived there. Even more disturbing was the lack of any images of Harry Potter among the many framed photographs of the resident family.

"A quick check upstairs, I think" Dumbledore murmured to McGonagall and Snape. They quietly made their way up the stairs past even more family portraits all showing the same three people. It was as if Harry Potter had never lived there at all. Upstairs Snape quickly discovered a horribly pink bathroom, and chintzy spare bedroom filled with a small army of simpering dog figurines. He quickly backed away from their soulless stares. Dumbledore, just by ear, found the master bedroom where Harry's aunt and uncle were fast asleep, he snoring like a revving motorcycle. McGonagall put her head around another bedroom door. The room beyond was filled with expensive gadgets and toys, clothes strewn across the floor and Harry's enormous cousin himself sprawled across the bed fast asleep, his duvet trickling slowly on to the floor. Quietly leaving, she turned to the remaining door. A slow sinking feeling filled her as she took in the numerous locks and the cat-flap. She'd told Albus these were the worst sort of muggles. "Albus" she hissed "I think it's this one". Dumbledore and Snape hurried over, hoping to get to the bottom of the night's events. Both looked at the door apprehensively. Why would a child's room need so many locks? Undoing the locks they slowly pushed the door open dreading what they would find.

OOOOOO

It was Halloween and Albus Dumbledore stood in his office looking out of the window. Even the beautiful view out towards the lake and the Forbidden Forest couldn't lighten his heart. There was no twinkle in his eyes as he thought of that awful night in August. Minerva had been so right; Vernon and Petunia Dursley really were the worst sort of muggles. He sighed sadly. They had found what had turned out to be Harry's bedroom to be all but empty except for his dying familiar locked in her cage. There had been no sign of the boy's occupation of the room apart from the hint of powerful magic quickly fading.

The Dursleys had had a very rude awakening where a large number of disturbing truths had been revealed about poor Harry's home life. Dumbledore had never been more enraged, upset and disappointed in his life. Poor Minerva had been practically in tears and was having difficulties holding herself back from hexing the disgusting excuse for a family. Severus had looked absolutely shell-shocked. The man had been nursing the idea of the last Potter as being a carbon-copy of his father, rich and spoilt. The poor man hadn't spoken for days afterwards. There was little they could do. The Dursleys seemed both delighted and completely unrepentant about it when they discovered their nephew had disappeared. In the end they retrieved the boy's meagre possessions and left.

The fall-out since had been awful. When it had been learnt that the boy-who-lived had gone missing and that he had an abusive childhood there had been a massive public outcry. How could Albus Dumbledore , defeater of Grindelwald and the only person that you-know-who was afraid of loose the boy-who-lived? How could he not have known about the boy's home life? After all he'd been reassuring everyone for years that Harry Potter was both safe and happy.

Dumbledore sighed lowering himself into his chair and closing his eyes as Fawkes tried desperately to comfort his human familiar. As Albus sunk into his depression and exhaustion there was a massive disturbance in the castle wards the like of which he never wanted to feel again. Racing to the window revealed the sight of distant students running away from the lake shore. Albus left his office at a sprint dreading what could have caused such a disruption in the castle's defences.

OOOOOO

In Geneva the professor of physics looked up from the computer screen. "Oh, back again" he thought to himself, before going back to his work.

OOOOOO

Panting from his mad dash (he was fit for his age, but there were limits), Dumbledore arrived at the lake shore with much of the rest of the teaching staff in his wake. A small group of students stood nearby looking at the reason for the disturbance with wide and frightened eyes. One of them, a Gryffindor piped up, "What is it Sir?"

Dumbledore stared at the thing. "I have no idea child."

This was completely beyond his experience. In his long life he had seen many strange and wonderful sights. This was possibly one of the most alien things he had ever seen. It was also possibly one of the most disturbing.

Sprawled in the mud was a roughly humanoid shape. Except nothing about it appeared remotely human. The massive thing, easily the size of Hagrid when standing was made up of massive slabs of metal, gigantic shoulder pads, hands so large he was sure that one of them would be able to completely enclose his head within its grip, massive greaves and huge feet all completed with a broad, broad chest. The helmet was partially hidden by a gorget and appeared to be modelled on the sort of designs worn by medieval knights, except this one had glass eye-lenses which gleamed a baleful red. Rearing up behind the helmet was a stylised eagle which spat blue sparks. The entire monstrosity was black with much gilded decoration trimming the edges of the greaves, bracers and shoulder pads. The theme seemed to be mainly skulls, chains and lettering spelling out phrases in a mangled form of Latin. The skulls seemed to be the decoration of choice appearing everywhere on the amour, from the shoulder pads, to the large stylised "I" on the thing's chest, even the knees; there was even a trio of decorated human skulls hanging from its belt.

And then there were the weapons. The skull theme continued on the hilt of the five foot long sword covered in esoteric runic inscriptions gripped in one hand and the odd and blocky gun in the other. Dumbledore thought it might be a gun, as he had seen such things during the struggle against Grindelwald, but this massive and blocky firearm bore little resemblance to what he remembered. The thing even had a long and thick staff attached to its back pack which was topped, predictably, with a haloed skull.

The entirety of the giant was liberally splashed with blood and gore and the armour itself was marked with fresh chips and scrapes in its paint. It was as if this skull obsessed stranger had just stepped out of some titanic battle just moments before.

Albus looked around at his staff who looked to be as horrified and bewildered as he felt. Flitwick appeared to be reading some of the inscriptions with appalled fascination. McGonagall looked from him to the amour and back again. Snape stared at the giant figure with narrowed and calculating eyes while Hagrid merely looked bewildered. Lockhart on the other hand had plastered on his best Witch Weekly smile on, "Fancy seeing a Greater Hairless Yeti here" he said cheerfully, "I fought one of those when I was in Bhutan. It had been..." till Hagrid stood on his foot. He swore it was an accident afterwards.

Albus finally managed to find his voice, "Well we can't leave it here can we", he turned to look at Flitwick, "Leviosa Maximus do you think?" a disturbed looking Flitwick just nodded.

OOOOOO

Three hours and with much swearing and magical ingenuity they finally managed to get the armoured monstrosity in to the infirmary. Leviosa Maximus wasn't up to the job at all, in fact Dumbledore and his staff had been completely unable to get any magic to affect the properties of the behemoth at all, not one feather or levitation charm had had any effect. At this point, Hagrid had come into his own. He had managed, along with some help from the older students to haul the giant on to an improvised and strengthened stretcher which they had then levitated. It had taken five people working together to get all the way to the infirmary. The death grip the giant had on its weapons had made it particularly difficult to get round some of the corners but nothing they tried to make it let go of them worked.

One of the students had cast a weighing charm on the stretcher, out of curiosity and had exclaimed with shock when it was revealed that the giant weighed nearly three tons. How the thing managed to move around was anybody's guess. It had obviously taken part in a battle. "Maybe they just fought very slowly." Dumbledore mused.

Flitwick sidled up to him, "Do you know if the Unspeakables or the Aurors have a department for fighting demons?" he asked obviously worried, "because a lot of the inscriptions and images on _that_," he pointed at the giant "are about destroying them and people who consort with them". Dumbledore stared. This was just getting worse and worse.

"Not to my knowledge" he replied feeling nervous.

He was shaken out of his thoughts when Hagrid suddenly froze where he was standing over the propped-up armoured giant. There was a distinct click and hiss. He looked around sheepishly, "I think I broke it" he mumbled "I jus' pressed down on the 'ead like." The helmet easily turned in his hands and came away revealing the visage of the most gigantic man they had ever seen. Hagrid stared brow furrowed before leaping back with a yelp, dropping the helmet on his foot. "Merlin's beard" he gasped out "it's...it's..." he pointed a shaking finger.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who have a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.

I should also say a big thank-you to my very patient Beta Jacobus-minoris who has read and reread my writing, pointed out my grammatical mistakes, questioned the suitability of some of my wilder ideas as well as putting up with my long winded rants about plot ideas.

Chapter 2

The staff crowded round gasping and jaws dropping, as they took in the sight before them.

If a Roman sculptor had ever done a heroic statue of James Potter, then it would have looked like this man, with his hard face full of chiselled lines. Clean shaven and with once messy hair that had now been tamed with a brutal, military looking haircut, the sides of his head shaved while the top had been slicked back. Multiple gold piercings glittered in each ear while the pale skin of his face was littered with small scars with three larger ones raking down the right-side of his face as if something large with claws had taken a swipe at him. And there on his forehead was a very familiar and distinctive lightening shaped scar, raised and corded and long healed.

Could this be Harry? It certainly looked like him all grown-up. But, if so, where had he been? What had he experienced? What had he become? Dumbledore was more shaken than he liked to admit. This was no child but an adult, a man of gigantic proportions, who had obviously grown up away from the Wizarding World. A man who had just come out of an extremely dangerous environment, if his "dress" and gore splattered state was anything to go by.

Madam Pomfrey looked pointedly from possibly "Harry" to Dumbledore , and taking the hint he hustled the rest of the staff and stray students out of the infirmary until only himself, Madam Pomfrey and Snape remained.

"You're not expecting to actually get a medical scan off that are you?" Snape jabbed his finger at the slumped, armoured man, "Remember all the difficulties we've just had."

Madam Pomfrey frowned "He's obviously been in some sort of an altercation and I need to check for any injuries. What if he's got some sort of internal bleeding!" she turned back to her patient wielding her wand purposefully, "And even if it doesn't work it certainly can't do any harm."

With a wave of her wand at her patient's head glowing figures and symbols appeared hovering and twisting in the air above him. Pomfrey frowned. That looked odd. He'd definitely been injured, no more than an hour ago. Some sort of blade had managed to pierce between the plates of the extraordinary amour but the flesh wound was already well on its way to fully healed. Something very strange was going on here.

With another wave of her wand and a murmured incantation his entire medical history started to record itself on conjured parchment. The medical records of most people would have amounted to no more than a small pamphlet barring serious illness; even the most hardened of Aurors would have no more than a slim paper back. Fifteen minutes later the spell was still going and the large pile of parchment was looking closer to the size of a respectable sized encyclopaedia.

Perusal of the monstrous record had revealed the most horrific history of injuries Pomfrey had ever seen. Working backwards produced a record suggesting a man in almost constant battle for long periods of time punctuated by periods of comparative calm. These often turned out to be recuperation periods for particularly horrific injuries such as the occasion when much of his smaller intestines were vaporised. This continued for a time period of just over 250 years. The injuries became less frequent though equally serious, and then they reached "Harry's" late teens. He had been put through a series of extremely intrusive surgeries, some of which had been completed without sedatives or sometimes painkillers, the pinnacle of awfulness, in Madam Pomfrey's opinion being the occasion when someone had deliberately peeled the skin off "Harry's" torso while he was conscious and without painkillers. All this surgery had been in order to add extra organs to his body. The man had two hearts and three lungs as well as a veritable smorgasbord of other additions all through his body, even his brain, which Pomfrey couldn't even begin to guess at the function of.

Finally they were on to familiar territory, the magical exhaustion Harry had suffered just months before his twelfth birthday, a smattering of fairly normal childhood injuries and then at the tender age of fifteen months the signs of having been hit by a powerful and dark curse, most likely Avarda Kedavra, which left an injury to his forehead.

After taking in the sight of the hefty leather bound tome that comprised Harry's complete medical record Madam Pomfrey had sobbed at the sheer awfulness that Harry had lived through on to the shoulder of a stunned Snape.

So now there was nothing more they could do but wait for him to regain consciousness. So herding Snape out of the infirmary Dumbledore left the possibly returned Harry Potter in the able care of Madam Pomfrey.

Harry had come round eight hours later but hadn't been either coherent or aware of his surroundings. Madam Pomfrey had taken it as a golden opportunity to spoon some beef broth down the man. At least he'd finally let go of his weapons. Three days later and there had been no change in his condition. Dumbledore was starting to get worried. Whatever Harry had experienced must have been highly traumatic. Maybe he would never recover.

OOOOOO

Inquisitor Allesandor Darius Carrow opened his eyes groaning softly at the epic headache pounding away at the back of his skull. The last thing he remembered was the filthy xenos witch shoving him into the active warp gate with a psy-blast, the words of the elder farseer still ringing in his head, "this is not your time, you have unfinished business". Treacherous xenos scum. He was exactly where he was meant to be. In other words, tracking the last of the demon worshipping cult and the rogue radical inquisitor he'd been carefully watching for the last two years, with Justicar Hadrian and his battle brothers. They'd come across the warp gate quite unexpectedly and had decided to destroy the wretched thing while they had the chance. Thankfully he'd been able to toss the melta bombs to the Justicar and instructed him to finish it. Carrow knew that brother Hadrian would see the mission completed, for he was both thorough and reliable.

So now it was a matter of where and when had he ended up, and how close was it to the nearest star-port. Looking around he saw rows of beds beneath high, arched windows through which streamed soft moonlight. It looked horribly familiar. This must be some sort of induced hallucination using his childhood memories. It should be impossible for him to return to the place otherwise. Cautiously he reached out with his mind tasting his surroundings, though there was a distinct feel of the warp around the place, definitely above background levels but not overwhelmingly strong and he was having problems tasting even the faintest trace of the corrupting spoor of chaos. In frustration he opened his mind to the Warp, his mental defences high in case of demonic attack. The usually stomach-churning psychedelic-ness of the warp was much calmer than he was used to. In fact Carrow could truthfully say this was the calmest that he had ever seen it, and what was also strange was the normally overwhelming stench of chaos had reduced to a barely perceptible background trace. And then it hit him, a difference so profound and awful that it left him reeling and as close to panic as he had ever got. He could not sense the God-Emperor's all encompassing and reassuring presence at all. It was completely missing. He retreated and tried again, and then again, roving further and further away from his position, wary of anything malicious lingering in the surrounding warp. On his furthest wandering, he spied a massive signature in the warp that at initial inspection felt very familiar. Cautiously he brushed up against it; the presence did the psychic equivalent of jumping in surprise, turning all of its overwhelming attention on him.

Carrow beat a hasty retreat in panic snapping to awareness of his physical surroundings, sweat drying on his forehead, his breathing fast and laboured. He'd only managed to get a few tiny impressions from the incredible being, who could only be the God-Emperor himself. What was a particle accelerator anyway? Some sort of Dark-Age super weapon?

This could only mean one thing, the overly calm warp, lack of Chaotic taint, the lack of His divine presence in the warp but rather corporate and hundreds of miles south of his current position. If he was any judge, he wasn't where he should be, he was where that God-Emperor cursed, filthy, interfering Xenos wytch scum wanted him to be. And he really didn't like what that implied, not one little bit.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach Inquisitor Carrow scooped up his helmet (just asking for a headshot leaving that behind) and his weapons (you never knew your luck) and vacated the infirmary.

OOOOOO

Two hours later and Carrow's worst fears had been confirmed as he prowled along familiar corridors and peered into classrooms he remembered from that single, solitary year at this school. Before he'd had his tumble through time, before he met his father, the bastard.

So he here was, stuck at the dawn of the Age of Technology, in a barbaric and primitive age full of heretics, and thankfully lost to the mists of time, except he was now in it, experiencing it first-hand. What had the Eldar Wych said? "You have unfinished business". He thought back to the rather strange year he'd had all that time ago. He remembered the excitement of finally escaping his rather worthless relatives, of entering a new world where his strangeness would be acceptable. What he got instead was lots of staring and whispering, his first real friends and a collection of teachers ranging from excellent to indifferent. The one with the purple turban had been a complete joke. He stopped. The man had been possessed by the shade of the deviant who had murdered his parents. There had been mention of a prophecy. That must be what the xeno-wytch was talking about. He had a disincorperated cultist to crush and he was prophesised to do it. He grinned manically inside his helmet; this was definitely the Emperor's work. With a new spring to his step he continued his exploration of the familiar building.

OOOOOO

Severus Snape was having a bad night. Yet again the dratted insomnia had kicked in and he daren't take Dreamless Sleep yet again. He'd been having too much of it recently. Ever since Lily's son had so mysteriously and completely disappeared, addiction was becoming a real threat. He'd treated the boy horribly, not looking past his close resemblance to his father. Harry had more in common with him that he did with James Potter thanks to Lily's horrible sister Petunia. So Lily's son had disappeared and now they were playing host to a heavily armoured, heavily armed giant in the infirmary, who might just be the Potter brat, if he ever regained his senses.

Even though it was the early hours of the morning he decided to walk his rounds of the castle. He was unlikely to find any students out-of-bounds at this hour but you never know, he might just get lucky. As he walked out of the dungeons Snape mused as to what could possibly have made the boy grow so large. It obviously wasn't natural.

As he passed the doors to the great hall he realised they were slightly ajar. Delighted that he was going to have the opportunity to catch some miscreant out of bed he slipped through the gap. Maybe he'd get to catch the dastardly duo (i.e. Mr. Weasly and Mr. Weasly) red-handed setting up one of their ridiculous pranks. Gazing around, everything seemed in order. The tables and benches were all in their places. The banners hung on the walls as they should, and the ceiling was currently showing the sky outside, clear and star-lit.

Snape blinked in surprise. There, standing in the middle of the hall was the armoured giant apparently staring up at the ceiling. He gasped slightly at the sheer size of the thing. He'd known it was large, but seeing it upright and in a familiar setting was a completely different kettle of fish.

At the sound of his gasp the giant's head had snapped round, eye-lenses glowing eerily in the dark. Snape shivered at the sheer alienness of the gaze that was now examining him. And then the thing started to move towards him. The rumour that the giant weighed as much as a small muggle car had quickly made its way around the castle. There had been much speculation as to how quickly something like that could move. The consensus was, not very. That rumour had just been blown out of the water. Snape stared as the armoured giant prowled towards him. It..._he_ moved with such ease and grace the suit looked as if it weighed nothing.

The armoured monstrosity came to a halt, mere feet away from a frozen and shocked Snape. He found himself on an eye-level with the baleful gaze of the skull on the giant's chest, the one in the middle of the large and stylised "I". His eyes watered and teeth ached from the heavy whine, just on the edge of hearing, which the suit appeared to emit. But his physical discomfort did not end there, as he broke out in a cold sweat, hairs standing up along his back and arms from the unearthly aura of the man inside the monstrous suit.

Snape finally found his voice, saying the first thing that popped in to his head (much to his embarrassment later), "I think, Mr. Potter, that you will find that it is past curfew and that you should be in bed, just like everybody else".

OOOOOO

The Great Hall was full of eagerly chattering students eating their breakfast, gossiping with their friends, doing last minute homework and cramming for tests, the teachers squeezing one last cup of coffee in and quietly talking among themselves and keeping an eye on the trouble makers. Sunlight poured down from the ceiling bathing the school population in golden sunlight and promising a beautiful late autumn day.

In the midst of all the cheerful hubbub sat a silent and lonely figure. Severus Snape was quietly nursing his sixth cup of coffee that morning desperately trying to wake up enough to face the day. His disturbing and disturbed night was not helping. Surely he had been dreaming the bizarre encounter in the Great Hall? He had certainly dreamt afterwards of the metal giant reaching out to grab him with hands bigger than his head, looming out of the dark, red eyes glowing balefully. He must have been dreaming because there was no other way that that..._thing_ could have prowled like a cat, light-footed and weightless.

A disturbance by the doors and the spreading silence caused him to jerk his head up, and there it was in all its armoured and armed glory, strolling up the centre of the Great Hall, the only sound the slight clinking as the delicately scrimshawed skulls hanging from his belt by chains like some gruesome chatelaine knocked together. If Snape had thought it was eerie seeing their peculiar visitor by night it was, if anything, more alarming by day.

Like a tidal wave the students cleared in front of him desperate to keep their distance. Inquisitor Carrow watched their flight bemusedly. It was a very long time since he'd last seen a child. They didn't tend to survive very long in the sort of environments in which he usually worked. He'd forgotten just how small they could be. The faces at the staff table mostly looked familiar...apart from the slack jawed looks. The sleazy looking blonde ponce must be the new Defence teacher. Not somebody he'd liberate a used vehicle from. Carrow sniggered softly at his own joke. And there on the end was Snape, who was just staring eyes wide. Carrow couldn't understand why he'd been so scared of him when he was eleven, since the man had been positively amusing last night. Removing his helmet in an attempt to appear more approachable, (you never know) he came to a halt straight in front of Dumbledore.

Carrow considered the row of silent, staring faces with a raised eyebrow. "Greetings in the name of the Emperor" he finally stated.

Snape shuddered as his diaphragm vibrated. Even the monster's voice was unnatural and aggressive. Nothing human should be able to make a noise that deep, and Merlin knew what language he was speaking in.

Dumbledore stared, shocked to the core. It was one thing seeing the man lying down and semi-conscious. The reality of him fully aware and moving around was something else. He might look like James Potter, but even the longest serving of Aurors or Hitwizards didn't look that hard or calculating, and his voice was inhumanly deep and cold. Dumbledore was hit by the sudden thought that here was a being that it would be potentially very lethal to cross.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter" he finally managed, relieved that his voice hadn't wavered "would you care to join us for breakfast?"

Carrow sighed at the ignorance of normal people. No he was not hungry and probably wouldn't be till tomorrow.

"I need to talk to you in private, Headmaster." he growled out.

Dumbledore looked bewildered, so Carrow tried again slower and louder in the time honoured fashion of dealing with foreigners and idiots.

"I'm very sorry Mr. Potter" Dumbledore sighed "but none of us here can recognise the language that you're speaking".

Carrow was fuming. Not recognise the language of humanity, ignorant little peasants, he could understand them perfectly, so what was their excuse. A high pitched and squeaky voice piped up somewhere around his knee caps. Carrow carefully backed up in an attempt to be able to see past his gorget and towards his own feet and the tiny professor, who appeared to be speaking a mangled form of High Gothic. A little experimentation proved that it was possible for each to understand the other and that the little man had appalling grammar. Unknowingly Professor Flitwick had prevented the very first of what were to be many rage fuelled rants. Finally the Inquisitor was able to communicate.

It was from here that things steadily went downhill as Flitwick translated Carrow's answers to the expectant professors and relayed their questions.

No, he was not hungry. No, he did not want to be at Hogwarts. Yes, he had just come out of a fight. No, not a battle, it was more of a small skirmish really, crossed with an ambush. No, the inscriptions were not decorative, some of them were religious and some were to commemorate notable victories of Carrow himself. Yes, he had devoted his life to destroying the demonic and those who consorted with them. No, he did not recognise their authority, he answered to a higher power. Yes, the God Emperor of mankind was real, filthy little heretics. No, he did not use the name Harry Potter anymore.

Carrow stiffened as he felt a disturbance in the warp. It was as if someone had reached out and attempted to invade his mind. Whirling, one hand going to his plasma pistol, the other holding a quickly pooling globe of warp fyre, he reached out with his mind trying to place the source of the disturbance. There, near the back of the room was a mind that was slightly different to all the others. It was as if the girl-child was possessed but it was not demonic in nature. The mind of another perhaps. Maybe she was being remotely puppeted in some way. This definitely needed looking in to, but didn't appear to be an imminent threat to his person. He highly doubted her mental condition was willingly induced . Not in one this young. Turning back to the teachers he allowed the warp-fyre to dissipate.

Snape blanched in fear when the peculiar aura of the monster rapidly increased in strength. He was positive that he could see ripples in the air around the armoured monstrosity as reality was warped slightly.

Dumbledore was horrified at the dangerous amounts of pure magic radiating off the man, and the speed at which he could move. Maybe the armour itself helped him move that fast, it must be enchanted in some way because there was no way that any sort of muggle technology could possibly function around this man. As "Harry" turned around they could all see that his eyes were glowing a vivid blue, radiating sparks of fire, such was the sheer quantity of magic that he was channelling.

And in the length of time it took to blink the oppressive aura of the man faded back to its normal levels and the familiar icy green eyes were again examining them with their calculating gaze.

The hall once again descended into silence disturbed only by the quiet sobbing of a small Hufflepuff first year.

A pale and sweating Flitwick tried desperately to get the conversation back on track, the beginning of a headache starting just above his right eye as he struggled with the larger man's odd grammar and peculiar pronunciation. He must have taught himself Latin out of a book; why else would it be so odd? Deciding it was safer to ignore what had just happened he inquired about "Harry's" name change. Really, could things get any worse?

The armoured and very magical monster continued with his explanations. He'd taken a new one when his father had adopted him. His father, a minor member of the aristocracy, had insisted on it as any son of his should have a name suitable for his station in life. What did he go by now? He was Inquisitor Allesandor Darius Carrow and he didn't care if they didn't like it.

Carrow's last pronouncement produced an eerie silence as long buried cultural memories of witch burnings came to the surface. An Inquisitor. The silence stretched as the sheer horror of what they were in the presence of sunk into dazed minds.

Except for one. Gilderoy Lockhart had got stuck at the Harry Potter part. He'd been desperate to meet the boy celebrity and it had been one of the main reasons he'd accepted the post. He'd been very disappointed when the boy-who-lived had turned out to be missing due to a magical accident. And it must have been a magical accident, as how else could a twelve year old get so large? He trotted round the table determined to do something about the poor boy's situation, he'd obviously had an accident with an engorgio charm. He was sure Harry would be intensely grateful and then they could have an exclusive together with Witch Weekly!

"Don't worry Harry, I'll save you" he cried in a manly voice brandishing his wand.

Carrow turned as the seedy looking blonde fop approached him. He certainly didn't need saving, what was the delusional idiot on? He watched bemused as the moron waved a little stick wildly crying "Reducio!" A wobbly flash of light left the stick, and splashed against the lower half of his chest plate, dissipating harmlessly, thanks to the hexagrammic wards. It had been a long time since someone this idiotic had tried attacking him. Insulted by the man's stupidity and incompetence, he drew back his fist and punched him gently in the head, watching with satisfaction as the pathetic meat sack keeled over unconscious.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who have a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.

I should also say a big thank-you to my very patient Beta Jacobus-minoris who has read and reread my writing, pointed out my grammatical mistakes, questioned the suitability of some of my wilder ideas as well as putting up with my long winded rants about plot ideas.

Chapter 3

Other than the still unconscious Lockhart, the entirety of the teaching staff were nervously gathered into the staff room. Even Filch and Madam Pince were present. Silencing and locking wards had been erected, and a notice-me-not charm had been carefully applied to the outside of the door.

In only 48 hours, the belligerent armoured menace had managed to cause mayhem. At first they'd been pleased when he finally managed a few words in English, but this had then quickly turned in to a torrent of strange questions, and frankly, highly alarming rants.

He'd traumatised every single portrait in the school. Empty frames were a good indication that you were physically near the awful man. The painted figures had decided that avoidance was the best route to continued existence, as Carrow had taken offence over the fact that Wizarding portraits moved, and had thrown a fireball at one when it tried to strike up a conversation with him. The rant afterwards about flamers (whatever they were) had been particularly disturbing.

And then there had been the Mrs. Norris incident. Inquisitor Carrow had accidently stood on her. With three tons of armour coming down squarely on top of her the poor cat had been reduced to a gruesome pancake on the floor. Carrow had actually been apologetic about the whole thing, but Filch was inconsolable at the loss of his beloved familiar, and had sobbed for a whole hour on the shoulder of a very irritated Severus Snape.

Madam Pomfrey had managed to coax Carrow out of his armour by pointing out that it could probably do with a good clean, and then she had asked when he had last bathed. The man couldn't actually remember. A horrified Pomfrey had insisted on him having a shower then and there. Revealing just how powerful a wizard he was, Carrow had levitated all three tons of his armour off before reassembling it. The sheer willpower alone needed to do something like that wandlessly had most of the castle's staff in a nervous jitter. It had also been quite easy to believe that the man encased in such armour could possibly be much smaller than he looked, that the sheer size of the man came from his metal encasement. This was revealed to be not the case. In his armour Carrow stood at just under 8ft in height. Without it, he stood at a "measly" 7ft10in, barrel chested, bulging with huge slabs of muscle and heavily scarred.

It was not long after this that Carrow had got in to a fist fight with Hagrid. Hagrid had lasted about 30 seconds before Carrow had succeeded in knocking him out with a well placed right hook which landed the poor man in the infirmary with a broken jaw. Hagrid was obviously reluctant to talk about the argument, and nobody felt mad or suicidal enough to ask Carrow.

So now they had an un-armoured, but still armed, Inquisitor Carrow prowling round the school clothed only in the skin tight and highly revealing under-garment which he normally wore with his armour. The question was what were they going to do with him? He was obviously highly dangerous and not the sort of thing that you wanted in a school, but on the other hand did they really want to set him loose on the unsuspecting Wizarding World?

"I think the problem is" Dumbledore mused "that he doesn't really feel any connection to his childhood." He leaned back staring at the ceiling twiddling his thumbs.

The rest of the staff stared at him incredulously. "And how do you suggest we go about "connecting" him to his childhood?" Snape asked sarcastically "Are you proposing that we reintroduce him to Quidditch, and his little Gryffindor friends, and how about that snowy owl?" He turned to Hagrid. "She did survive didn't she?" he asked.

Hagrid nodded "Hedwig's made a full recovery, lovely bird tha' one."

Albus was smiling, "Exactly Severus! I think that's exactly what we ought to do."

The teachers all looked at one another. It was now official; the old man had finally lost the plot.

"Albus," Minerva started "there is no way that I'm letting either Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley anywhere near that awful man. There's no telling what he would do."

Dumbledore went back to twiddling his thumbs, "We don't really know him at all," he looked questioningly at the gathered faces, "We know that he is a warrior of some prowess. What else do we know about him?"

Minerva frowned, "He's obsessed with violence."

"If he's a warrior then that means he's highly likely to have some sort of code of honour" observed Filius, "I highly doubt that he'd attack children, ignore them maybe, but not deliberately harm them."

"His body is artificial" a pale Madam Pomfrey stated. Everybody stared at her. "Well, he's got all those extra organs and his height and muscle are artificially induced. Even his brain chemistry has been changed. I've never seen anything like it" she finished mournfully.

There was silence as the gathering digested the resident healer's observations.

Filius broke the silence, "Do we know where he's been or even how old he is? De we even know who he's worked for?"

Blank faces looked back at him. "I know how old he is," Pomfrey sighed" the medical scans placed him as being about 297 years. That's with ten years leeway each side."

"Merlin," Filius breathed, "if he's that sort of age I bet he only barely remembers Hogwarts."

"And this is my point exactly." Albus said smiling broadly, "We don't know him and he doesn't know us."

"To be fair Albus, he really isn't the most approachable of people," Filius said. Some of the other staff nodded.

"I've had a conversation with him," Madam Pince piped up, everybody stared at her. "He came in to the library just yesterday," she continued, "enquiring about back issues of local newspapers. He said he wanted to get a better idea of our culture and local events. He was ever so polite, a real gentleman," she cooed happily.

Everybody stared at the vulture-like women in shock. She barely tolerated the staff around her books, and what she thought about most of the students was unprintable. So how had 7ft10in of bad attitude charmed her? The mind boggled.

Albus looked delighted. "Obviously, we just have to get past his forbidding exterior. I'm sure once he's warmed up to us, he'll have much more in common with the Harry we all got to know last year."

Severus sneered, "What do you propose we do? Invite him for tea and biscuits?"

Albus grinned, "Another excellent idea Severus. Yes, I think we may just do that."

And with that, Operation-Befriend-the-Belligerent-Git was born.

OOOOOO

Operation-Befriend –the-Belligerent-Git got off to a rocky start a few hours later when Dumbledore tried to persuade Carrow that he should make himself at home in one of the opulent guest quarters. Carrow had pointed out that he'd already made himself at home elsewhere and had walked off refusing to say where.

Carrow had in fact discovered the old fencing hall, long since disused, but perfect for his purposes. A large open space lit with massive arched windows on one side and with bays originally used for storing equipment on the other side. Even now his armour resided in one of those alcoves freshly polished and with the worst of the chips and scratches mended. He'd been sleeping on the floor in one of the other bays. It reminded him strongly of his days first as an aspirant, and then as a scout with the Charnel Guard. Happy, happy days.

Another of the bays he'd started turning in to a small chapel where he could perform his daily devotions. The only thing that would really improve his quarters would be some inspirational murals, so he was currently looking for any paint that he could liberate. He wasn't having much luck so far.

Dumbledore was extremely embarrassed; he'd genuinely believed that Carrow was sleeping in the infirmary. He had to make amends in some way; maybe he should give the man his school trunk back. He was sure Carrow would have fond memories of it, but he didn't even know where the man was sleeping and if it was even suitable. Flitwick had solved the problem by pointing out that somebody as obviously warlike as Inquisitor Carrow probably had daily exercises to perform when not in battle. That would mean he would tend to gravitate towards large spaces. They'd checked the ballroom and the larger disused lecture theatres, but had finally found him in the old fencing hall. The blasted man had set up some really vicious protective wards on the door with more in the corridor outside the like of which neither wizard had ever seen before. Dumbledore was reduced to "knocking" on the wards to gain entry to part of his castle.

OOOOOO

Carrow was not impressed when he was interrupted in the middle of his sword combat patterns by intruders disrupting his security wards. He wasn't happy with what he'd been able to cobble together, they felt flimsy. He'd have really have liked several blast doors and some automated security drones, maybe a sprinkler system laced with sulphuric acid. He'd seen that used before, simple and effective. But here he couldn't have even those minimal security measures. Sighing in frustration he went to see what the intrusion was hoping that it was something that would be a challenge. To his utter disappointment it was merely the headmaster and the very short professor, Flitwick he remembered.

Dumbledore recoiled from the sight of the mostly naked, sword wielding giant in front of them. Filius had obviously been correct in his assumption of Carrow wanting to train as the man was literally dripping sweat on to the floor not to mention the rather pungent body odour rolling off him. All Dumbledore had wanted to do was give Carrow back his childhood belongings but it was difficult to think of the lovely young Harry that he'd met last year when faced with this avatar of unrestrained violence. He had to at least try.

Carrow stared at the plain and slightly battered school trunk he'd been presented with by the headmaster. What in the Emperor's name was he supposed to do with it. He highly doubted he'd have much use for any of the few belongings that he'd owned aged eleven. Looking up he saw the two professors standing next to one another giving him encouraging smiles.

Opening the trunk revealed the meagre debris of his distant childhood. The clothing was quickly disposed of with a small blast of warp-fyre causing Dumbledore and Flitwick to recoil in horror. He uncovered the stick he remembered using as a magical focus next. The small wooden stick lay on the palm of his hand, small, fragile and barely responsive. He tossed it to one side.

The books were equally useless; particularly amusing was the magical theory text which was so wrong it practically qualified as a comedic novel. The photo-album of his parents was nice but he really didn't have any connection with these people any more. He'd never known them and he'd since had other parental and familial figures in his life, the Charnel Guard and his father in other words. Looking at the images of his biological father he could see the striking facial resemblance they shared, and that was where the similarities ended. The huge confident grin the man wore in most of the pictures was just too happy and naive, suggesting he had never really suffered any great hardships or losses. Carrow had met many people like him before. He'd even got to shoot some of them.

The invisibility cloak, something that might have been useful was unfortunately too short, having been designed for a normal man. And then he found it, the real prize, at the bottom of the trunk. A small golden key, which if he remembered correctly, was for his vault at Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. He definitely wanted to check that as soon as possible.

Dumbledore watched with increasing disappointment as the revealing of the trunk didn't have the effect he expected. Carrow failed to exhibit any signs of nostalgia, excitement or even mild interest. What had happened to cut this man off so completely from his past? Maybe Carrow would allow him to improve his living quarters. The place could definitely do with being jollied up.

OOOOOO

Snape snarled in frustration. Why couldn't he get the old man to understand just how dangerous that over-armoured and over-armed monstrosity really was? His head pounded with one of the worst migraines he'd ever had, caused by a lack of sleep. How could he sleep when whenever he closed his eyes he saw Carrow, amour covered in sticky blood, reaching out for him, the eye pieces of his helmet glowing a baleful red. A large red sun had slowly risen, revealing the corpse-strewn remains of a battle field, muddy craters full of water reflecting the dirty red light while abandoned blocky and rusty war machines stood slewed and sinking in the mud. That was when the stench of the place had hit him, rotting bodies, burning wood, something metallic and above everything, gunpowder. Last night had been particularly overpowering, and he had been forced to sprint for the loo before he vomited in his own bed. Carrow had something to do with this, he was certain, or maybe it was some sort of premonition. Either thought was disturbing. In the end it only meant one thing; Carrow was trouble.

To compound Snape's current troubles, the headmaster had decided to take his "tea and biscuits" suggestion completely seriously. So here he was, walking with the headmaster to the staff room for the most unlikely of meetings.

"Headmaster that menace has to go. We know very little about him, and what we do know is not at all positive" Snape growled in frustration.

"Now, now Severus" smiled Dumbledore, "I'm sure it's not that bad. He hasn't attacked anyone unprovoked yet, and he's definitely not harmed any of the students."

Snape snorted derisively "Oh no, he's only had a fist fight with Hagrid and knocked that idiot Lockhart unconscious."

"Neither of which he initiated," Dumbledore put in. "As far as I can tell the argument with Hagrid was about one of his larger and more...unusual pets. And as for Gilderoy, well, Mr. Carrow was just defending himself."

Snape sighed in exasperation, "What about his strange magic? He plays with Fiend-Fyre as if it were an everyday thing."

Dumbledore looked pensive for a moment, "we know that he's spent most of his adult life fighting demons. It must be one of the "tools of his trade", hence his excellent control." He peered at Snape over the top of his glasses. "The poor man has obviously had a hard life and we really need to make more of an effort to make him feel at home."

Snape froze with his hand on the door of the staff room, "More at home headmaster?" Snape stared incredulously at the man, "Maybe we should raise some demons in the dungeons. I'm sure that would make him feel much more at home."

Dumbledore frowned at him, "Really, Severus, I'm sure that Mr. Carrow is more than happy to not have to face such terrible things again."

Struck temporarily dumb by the apparent blindness of Dumbledore all Snape could do was stare. "I hope you're right headmaster," he finally managed to say, "because if you aren't than I'm certain the Wizarding world will never know what hit it."

They entered the staff room together into a strained atmosphere filled with overly cheerful conversation as the rest of the staff tried to ignore the looming and ominous presence of Carrow who was lurking in a corner.

Dumbledore sighed. _This is going to be hard work_ he thought, his attempts at improving the man's living quarters coming to mind and how Carrow had reacted to it all. He hadn't appreciated his ideas about furniture at all though he'd had been thankful for the addition of a working bathroom to the fencing hall, something about not having to go to the Apothecorium for a shower now. That puzzled Dumbledore. He didn't even know they'd got one, whatever it was. He'd even thanked them for the rather basic and boringly black robe that they'd been able to sort out for him. Dumbledore had tried to cheer it up by turning it red and gold but the ear-drum splitting rant had soon dissuaded him. What was the Adeptus Mechanicus, anyway? Or a cog-boy for that matter? Though it did sound rather painful.

Snape looked around the room only to find himself meeting the intense green gaze of the blasted monster. The small knowing smirk the man gave him sent shivers down his spine. Somehow Carrow must have heard at least part of their conversation, or maybe it was about those dreams. Grabbing a cup of coffee he retreated to the far corner of the room, as far away from Carrow as he could physically get.

Carrow watched Snape's retreating form. The man clearly viewed him as a threat if his hugging the wall opposite was anything to go by. Sensible man, he smiled to himself.

Carrow had on frequent occasions been unable to get out of social events. He had seen the inside of many a politician's office, almost universally extremely opulent, full of gilt ornamentation and costly works of art created by sector renowned artists and crafts people. Some of these individuals had offered him the local beverage and sweetmeats. Some of them he'd shot. He'd also been to many a gathering of military strategists and leaders. Sometimes it had been difficult to tell the difference between them and the politicians. He'd also shot some of them too. And on one particularly awful occasion he'd been forced to go to a Grand-Ball where he had retreated to a corner and watched the ridiculous goings-on with disgust. But he'd never been in a school staff room before. It was definitely more pleasant than the politician's offices. The room was cosy and comfortable in a shabby sort of way with its threadbare but good quality furniture, the chairs with their tatty upholstery and the table with its cup rings and other scars of daily life, the plain walls covered with notices and the large fire place in which a fire cheerfully flickered. Around its hearth gathered a small tribe of worn and squashy armchairs just asking to be sat in.

The staff members, who had before been nervous and skittish in his presence had calmed down considerably now that the headmaster was amongst them, though some still threw him wary glances. Sipping the cup of recaf (they called it coffee, but he knew what it was) that Sprout had persuaded him to try he examined the watchful and expectant faces.

The silence stretched out. Carrow let it. Some of the more delicate members of staff started to shift nervously as the silence was only broken by the ticking of the grandfather clock on the far wall (a gift to the school by a former student in 1872) and the soft crackling of the fire.

Dumbledore finally cleared his throat breaking the increasingly uncomfortable silence. "Well now," he smiled at the room's occupants, "I must admit I did have ulterior motives for arranging this little get together this evening."

Carrow snorted softly. Could the man be any more obvious? This was a blatant attempt at some carefully veiled interrogation. Personally he preferred sensory deprivation. It tended to get better results.

"You see," the old man continued, "We really don't know you at all. You've grown a lot since we last saw you and I'm sure you feel much the same way about us so this is a golden opportunity for us to get to know each other again." Dumbledore smiled reassuringly at the large man.

These people wanted to get to know him. This was a first for Carrow. In his experience, the only people who wanted to get to know him were either trying to kill him or were being interrogated by him. Sometimes they fell in to both categories. The only people he really considered as being close friends were the brothers of the Charnel Guard who he had trained alongside as aspirant and scout. Sometimes even that was qualified due to the complexities of Imperial political intrigues.

Dumbledore sighed internally with frustration. Carrow was so hard to read, his normally stony face giving nothing away, and he didn't react the way most people would at all. Maybe he was just shy, after all, Harry had been when he had first arrived at Hogwarts and there was no particular reason why that would have changed.

"Well, why don't we start at the beginning," he said kindly.

_The very beginning, what sort of beginning?_ thought Carrow. Well he could start where he normally liked to begin.

"I am Inquisitor Allesandor Darius Carrow of the Ordos Malleus of His most Holy Inquisition of the Imperium of Man." He paused considering his silent and wide-eyed audience. "I am very much a Puritan, with Mono-Dominant sympathies, though I'm not a full-blooded follower of that philosophy." He smiled like a shark at the silent, staring faces "Which is why you are all alive...still."

It was at this point that most people would attempt running away or begging for their lives. He settled more comfortably into the armchair someone had thoughtfully enlarged for him.

"I could tell you about some of my more notable victories. You understand secrecy is one of the weapons of my arsenal and I have also taken numerous vows of silence over the years so I cannot tell you of much of my life, but there are a few notable exceptions that might interest you."

Carrow looked questioningly at his captive audience. A silent Flitwick, face frozen in horrified fascination gestured for him to continue. So for the next hour he recounted his experiences on Midorian Prime when he was hunting down a heretical preacher and his followers, and got caught up in the middle of a Sector-wide Orc Waargh. In between butchering Orcs he'd managed to track down the preacher, eviscerate him and his followers, and burn the remains. It was also memorable as the first time he'd taken part in a major battle not involving a demon incursion, and also the first time he'd met Ultramarines. The Ultramarines Captain had particularly taken against him and declared him an unnatural chapter-less abomination who ought to be put down. He'd called the ridiculous man a book-bound stuffed shirt with his head up his own arse and no discernible brain matter. Their mutual animosity had resulted in a fist-fight in the training halls which was only ended by a Ordos Xenos Inquisitor (who was there for the Orcs) turning a high-pressure water hose on them, telling them that if they were going to behave like pre-schola juvies, then that was exactly how she was going to treat them. The feud between him and the Ultramarines had continued to this day.

Carrow's favourite memory of the whole campaign had been the climactic battle of the siege of Midorian Primus, the principal hive-city. The battle had been on an epic scale with millions of guardsmen manning the defences, the air filled with dog-fights and even titans deployed to wage war with the hideous monstrosity called a gargant that the verminous orcs had cobbled together. It had been war on an unprecedented scale, the stuff of legends and he had been in the middle of it, fighting for the Imperium.

Snape listened to the fantastical tale with increasing disbelief. The idea of war on that scale he just couldn't imagine at all, and when did it happen? He had a feeling they would have noticed a world-wide battle with a horde of invading hyper-intelligent troll-like creatures somehow. And these were obviously the monster's happy memories. Carrow had become increasingly animated, even smiling, as he told them his tale, though Snape was certain that nobody in the room wanted to know that you could kill an Orc by tearing its arms off and jamming them down its throat.

"Excuse me for being sceptical but I think we'd have noticed something like that happening," Snape sneered at the ridiculous man.

Laughter like distant thunder rumbled around the room causing the window to vibrate and the staff to flinch.

"Well of course you haven't heard of it," Carrow laughed. He looked at them expectantly surprised that none of them had put the pieces together yet. It's not as if he'd been discrete about it, though Flitwick was frowning in thought.

"Well thank-you for telling us about your experiences," Dumbledore finally said, "But what happened after your disappearance from the... safety of your relatives' home?" he finished desperately. He needed to get a better measure of the man to really know if he would be a suitable "Saviour of the Wizarding World", able to fulfil the prophesy and rid them of Voldemort permanently. Really, the man was being quite difficult.

Carrow raised an eyebrow. Well, he supposed they might want to know such a thing, but really it wasn't that interesting. He'd much rather talk about the battles he'd been in. He supposed he'd humour them then though he wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up in the 41st millennium. His best theory being that it had been the will of the God-Emperor himself. That he had ended up at that exact time and place must have required divine intervention. If he'd been even a hundred feet away he would not have met the man who was to become his father, and would have quite quickly succumbed to the local predators or starvation.

"That was a long time ago," he said, eyes distant, "I remember falling asleep locked in my cousin's second bedroom believing that I was going to die there and praying to be free of the place. When I woke up I was somewhere else. Somewhere very different. It wasn't long after that I met the man who was to become my father," he grimaced slightly.

His icy gaze bore into Dumbledore, "I was a very different person then you'll understand. My father was the very first adult to show any real parental concern towards me and in return I was desperate to please him in any way possible. I was exactly the sort of thing my father liked to collect. Powerful but neglected, naive and so very, very eager to please...yes, Inquisitor Arturus Carrow loved to mould people into weapons that he could then wield."

Dumbledore shrank back into his chair frozen with guilt, cold sweat trickling down his back.

The green eyed monster continued remorselessly, "By the time I gained my thirteenth year I was quite the little psychopath," he smiled coldly. "But in the end I don't see particularly why any of this is your business." he finished, annoyed with the irritating little meat sacks.

McGonagall and Sprout looked at one another in frustration. This really wasn't going anywhere at all, except to annoy a potentially very dangerous man further.

"Well, I think many of us would see it differently" Sprout began tentatively, "Many of us knew your parents and you too when you were a baby."

McGonagall nodded her agreement, "We were all so looking forward to teaching you last year,"

Snape snorted in the background. McGonagall ignored his rude interruption.

"When you arrived you were smaller and shyer than we were expecting but you seemed to settle down and make friends well enough." McGonagall paused, collecting her thoughts.

"When you disappeared this summer, it was a terrible shock to find that your family had treated you so ...so..."

McGonagall was overcome, unable to continue.

Carrow stared at the idiots; really his childhood hadn't been that bad. He'd had a roof over his head, and clothes, and reasonably regular meals. By Imperial standards it had been comparatively comfortable, even a little luxurious. So his aunt and uncle hated him, well, you couldn't have everything.

Sprout looked at her colleague in concern, seeing she was unable to continue she stated what was on every ones' mind.

"What we're trying to say is we were all greatly upset by your disappearance from your home. When you returned to us, initially we were elated but you're so changed not just physically but in personality from what we knew."

Sprout paused looking in to the man's hard and stony face. Proving that Hufflepuffs could also be brave, she soldiered on.

"We just want an understanding of where you've been, what you've done, how you became this," she waved a hand at Carrow's impressive physique. "We just want to get to know you again" she finished with a sigh.

Carrow surged to his feet utterly fed-up and bored of this thinly veiled and ineptly done attempt at a first action interrogation. It was verging on embarrassing. He prowled over to the window checking for intruders on the castle grounds (an Orc Waagh would liven the place up) but was disappointed by the merely beautiful view of lake, forest and mountains. He turned back to the room and its traumatised residents. A wander around the room left him at the battered but dignified table laden with the makings of tea and coffee as well as numerous plates of biscuits and small cakes. Spying some that were relatively plain in appearance, except for the words "rich" and "tea" incised on the top, he had an experimental taste. Pleasant, and not too sweet.

Snape watched with narrowed eyes as the large and physically imposing figure prowled around the room like a caged tiger. Everything about this man was just so wrong. Though Snape's contact with the muggle world had been rather limited over the last decade, he was aware that they hadn't yet developed technology remotely like the armour Carrow had or the sort of techniques that would be required to turn a scrawny and under-sized little boy into a 7ft10in slab of muscle. If they did, then it would be so secret and hush-hush they should have government agents of some description banging on the castle gates demanding their experimental subject back.

Which meant two things; either Carrow had come from an alternate world, there had been theoretical speculation over their existence after all; or he'd travelled in to the future possible by as much as a couple of hundred years, considering how quickly muggles thought up new technology and then discarded it.

"What was the date of the battle you told us about?" enquired Snape cautiously.

Carrow grinned; finally someone was starting to use their brains, "842.M41."

A bewildered silence descended on the room.

"I believe in your notation," Carrow sneered,"that it would be 40,842."

The silence broke to a wave of disbelieving outcries. How could he have travelled 38 thousand years in to the future and what were the consequences of this going to be? It was beyond comprehension.

Deciding to have a little fun Carrow added some more fuel to the proverbial fire, his voice easily heard over the room's other occupants.

"Midorian doesn't even lie within sight of Holy Terra. It's the other side of the Galactic Hub from here."

Silence descended on the room again.

"What?" a stunned Snape gasped out, "what do you mean the other side of the Galactic Hub?"

Carrow smirked evilly at them, "What I said. This is the first time I've set foot on the surface of the cradle of humanity since I was the tender age of eleven."

The sea of completely bewildered faces was what Carrow was coming to expect from these insular and backward people. The sooner he sorted out what masqueraded as their government the better. They were obviously incapable of making intelligent decisions for themselves.

Dumbledore could feel an enormous headache starting. What in Merlin's name were they going to do about this? Messing with time was very much frowned upon, but 38 thousand years! It was beyond comprehension. Did the Wizarding World even exist then? Maybe it would be better if he slept on any decisions considering the size of this revelation. A stiff Fire-Whisky would be a good idea too.

"What about the Wizarding World?" he finally whispered, "Did we still exist?" not at all positive about the answer, being more hopeful than anything else.

Carrow eyed him speculatively, "I once had the opportunity to access an Inquisitorial Librarium which contained many documents relating to Humanity's early history. There was almost nothing known about this period of time, only half-heard whispers and traces of myth. The Imperium of Man knows more of the Ancient Romani and Grecians that the Dawn of the Age of Technology."

Dumbledore stared hopelessly on to the cold and unyielding eyes of Carrow.

"I'm afraid Dumbledore that the Wizarding World wasn't so much as a footnote of a footnote. I have a suspicion that it died out a couple of hundred years from now. It's very likely that the "non-magical" cultures didn't even notice."

The room lapsed into a depressed silence each person contemplating their own dismal thoughts. Only the ticking of the clock and the soft crackling of the fire could be heard.

Carrow went back to his contemplation of the biscuits. He was sure some of them smelt of cocoa, something that he'd previously enjoyed when it had been presented to him in the form of a hot drink. He was just sampling one of the biscuits in question when he suddenly heard the sound of running footsteps coming ever closer until they came to a scrambling halt outside.

A thunderous, panicked banging on the door caused the teachers to collectively jump out of their skins. Dumbledore stumbled to the door and dragged it open revealing an out-of-breath seventh year prefect.

"Headmaster," he gasped out between breaths, "There's been an attack, on a student, second floor, main stairs."

Dumbledore pulled himself together, nobody got away with attacking students on his watch. Turning to his staff he nodded to the heads-of-house to follow him and swept out in to the corridor to the scene of the incident.

OOOOOO

Carrow hummed happily to himself. Finally something interesting was happening around here. A student appeared to have been placed in some sort of warp-induced stasis with a ridiculous message painted on the wall reading

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR BEWARE*

Well the stasis couldn't be a student prank, it would take some skill to manage such a feat, but the writing on the wall, yes, he could imagine some idiot child doing that for the reaction of their peers.

A large puddle on the floor appeared to extend under a nearby door. Gripping his combat knife in one hand Carrow carefully inched the door open. The room beyond appeared to be a public lavatory in a not very good condition. Smudges of muck in the shallow water led to the far end of the room. Carrow followed them.

A tremulous voice cried out "Who's there?" Carrow had a faint impression of ghostly glasses and teenage acne before the air was rent with a piercing shriek and a splash as the phantom disappeared into the relative safety of the lavatorial u-bend.

_How unhygienic_ thought Carrow as he contemplated the mess in front of the far basin. Tilting his head slightly he examined the curious way it appeared to seep out from the stones around it. An experimental twiddle of the taps revealed them to be non-functional. _So possibly a disguised entrance_ he thought, so that explained a possible where, so the next questions were how and who, and did this have anything to do with the puppeted girl-child?

Slipping back out in to the corridor he found the teaching staff still wringing their hands over the still body of the boy-child, their aimless milling around had churned up the puddle of water destroying the evidence before they could even examine it. Dumbledore appeared to be examining a primitive pict-stealer of some kind. Carrow watched as the man finally managed to remove the back releasing a small cloud of plastic stinking steam from the melted insides.

Ignoring the wide-eyed stares of the prefects Carrow stalked over to the writing on the wall. A close examination suggested that it was written by someone fairly short in stature. Seeing the "paint" was still wet Carrow trailed his finger in it. He raised the red-smudged finger to eye-level, carefully examining the stain before licking his finger clean. He savoured the taste like some gruesome wine connoisseur as his audience watched in fascinated horror. "Bovine" he declared to the sea of disgusted faces.

OOOOOO

*Quoted from p106, "Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets" by J K Rowling, Bloomsbury, 1998.


	4. Chapter 4

Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who have a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.

I should also say a big thank-you to my very patient Beta Jacobus-minoris who has read and reread my writing, pointed out my grammatical mistakes, questioned the suitability of some of my wilder ideas as well as putting up with my long winded rants about plot ideas.

My very First Author's Note

Thank-you to Felius who pointed out that by making Inquisitor Carrow Astartes that I've made this into a bit of a curb-stomp of a story. When I was first attacked by this particular plot bunny Carrow was a normal person but he just kept on getting bigger and bigger until he demanded power armour.

I went with it as it made the story more interesing. Instead of having a character who could easily hide among the normal population and cause utter mayhem behind the scences, I've got a character who has got to plan very carefully what he does to further his aims.

For example, say he decideds to assinate Nott senior, as a normal person this would be relaitvely simple, even if he was spotted, as long as he isn't identifiable the suspect list is likely to include most of Knockturn Alley's population. Inquisisor Carrow as an Astartes on the other hand has a problem. If he gets spotted even if he isn't identifed there is going to be a suspect list of two, him, and Hagrid.

My Inquisitor!Harry is most definetly overpowered for the problems the wizarding world is faced with. It's a bit like using a pile-driver to crush a nut. He is going to have to be very careful and restrained in how he uses his strength and knowlege so that he doesn't destroy what he is trying to manipulate.

I also think that a lot of the other characters, particularly Voldermort, are going to react rather negatively to Carrow's overpowered-ness and are going to go for far more extreme lengths or depths due to his percieved threat level. As a result I'm going to have the Wizarding War turn into a much larger and more dangerous event.

Chapter 4

Albus Dumbledore scowled horribly at his porridge before stabbing it forcefully as if it had personally offended him. The last couple of days had been something of a nightmare for him. First there had been the attack on a student. As far as they had been able to tell poor little Colin Creevey had only been trying to take a picture of the elusive guest rumoured to be Harry Potter returned to them. And talking of the mysterious guest, he appeared to be missing from breakfast. Dumbledore didn't know whether to be relieved that the blasted man wasn't present or worried as to what he was probably up to.

It had all started at breakfast yesterday...

OOOOOO

The first meal of the day had been well under way when the large man had stalked in, prowling up the centre of the hall before seating himself at the teacher's table next to Snape of all people. The noise level had tapered off considerably at the man's appearance before quickly resuming its previous boisterous level.

Carrow had toyed with a piece of toast and a cup of coffee while examining the students eating at their tables and ignoring the inane babble of Lockhart, who was unfortunately recovered enough to resume daily life. Who knew that associating with so many Imperial aristocrats could be so useful? Carrow swept his gaze over the student body again. At the Ravenclaw table he spied a second year student who had yet again inserted a finger up one nostril. What was he looking for up there? Lost gold? The secrets of human existence?

Five minutes later and the little brat was still investigating the intricacies of his right nostril while Lockhart had deviated from his previous topics, himself, his adventures and himself and was talking about something called Witch Weekly, and interviews, and how they should have one together. Carrow growled to himself. He'd had enough. Drawing an enormous breath he let rip.

"GET YOUR FINGER OUT OF YOUR NOSE BOY!"

The ear-drum splitting bellow rent the air, rattling the windows and causing dust to fall from the rafters. Every single person present in the hall startled while the second year student (and Lockhart) fell off his seat in a faint with a squeak and a thud clearly audible in the ringing silence.

A fuming Madam Pomfrey spent much of the rest of the morning dosing the more delicate denizens of the castle with calming draft. At the rate things were going her normal year's supply would just last to the Christmas holidays.

In the mayhem both Carrow and Snape had disappeared.

OOOOOO

Dumbledore stabbed at his porridge again. There were going to be no twinkling eyes or grandfatherly looks this morning. He'd only found out what happened afterwards from poor Severus.

OOOOOO

Being the weekend Snape had left the castle intending to apparate to Diagon Alley to visit the apothecary there. Passing through the gates he found himself ambushed by Carrow who demanded to go with him.

Snape jumped out of his skin for the second time that morning, reflexively drawing his wand on the larger man. Carrow smiled approvingly, "You are going to Diagon Alley," he stated.

Snape nodded slowly, not lowering his wand form the large and dangerous man in front of him.

"Take me there," Carrow demanded, stepping closer to the much smaller man.

Snape glared, refusing to be intimidated despite the fact he barely came up to Carrow's chest. He thought of the transport possibilities open to him. He didn't fancy side-along apparating the very large man, and he highly doubted that Carrow would fit in the floo, though it would be highly amusing watching him try. And then he had an evil little thought, what about the Knight Bus?

Snape narrowed his eyes at the larger man, "What's in it for me?" he demanded. Carrow smirked down at him.

A short walk into Hogsmede and a quick signal with his wand later, the Knight Bus shuddered to a banging halt in front of them.

Five minutes later the Knight Bus had deposited them in front of the Leaky Cauldron after the quickest, most efficient journey that Snape had every experienced on the infernal contraption.

After dumping the gigantic irritant at Gringotts Snape had retreated to the peace and civility of the apothecary. He had an enjoyable perusal of the more interesting ingredients for his personal use before getting down to some viscous and dirty haggling. Happy with his purchases he strolled peacefully up the alley to Flourish and Blotts to collect a book order and the latest issue of Brewer's Quarterly.

He was just browsing the Defence section and sneering at the utter drivel that got published now a day's when sounds of shouting and running footsteps started to drift in from the alley. Snape made a quick exit with a horrible suspicion that he knew exactly who was responsible for causing the disturbance.

These suspicions were quickly confirmed. To Snape's disbelieving eyes Carrow was being given an armed Goblin escort off Gringotts premises. Snape's heart fell to his stomach. What had the wretched man done?

Carrow scanned the crowd of staring civilians until he spied Snape. Locking on to the man he quickly strode towards him, the crowd parting in front of him as people desperately scrambled and tripped over themselves to get out of his way.

Snape stared up at the gigantic man, "Eager to get rid of you were they?" he sneered. Carrow merely smiled viciously.

He really did try and keep the giant whirlwind of mayhem under control, he really did, but in the end all Snape could do was trail after Carrow as he visited various shops along the alley terrorising staff and rattling windows as he shouted people in to submission. They left a trail of shaken, reeling retailers, terrified bystanders and bewildered aurors behind. Snape wasn't even entirely sure what the man was after, but he seemed satisfied when he left each establishment.

Snape nearly sagged in relief when Carrow turned to him and announced that he had finished. Eagerly leading the way towards muggle London, and the Knight Bus, Snape nearly ran down the alley to make his escape from the staring, whispering bystanders. He had carefully nurtured his reputation as a cold and unfeeling bastard but he really did not want to be associated with the level of shameless belligerence which Carrow was capable of achieving.

Carrow grabbed Snape's arm before he could summon the ridiculous mode of transport again. He hadn't managed to get a very good look at the street on the non-magical side of the seedy little ale-house. It looked fairly unremarkable in its architecture, definitely human, a distressing lack of Imperial symbols as far as the eye could see, with basic promethium-derivative fuelled ground-vehicles much in evidence. The people walking past could have come from anywhere across the Imperium apart from the rather ugly and crude clothing that they mostly wore. It was all strangely familiar while at the same time being shockingly different. He desperately needed to gain knowledge of and some kind of toe-hold in this wider non-magical world.

Snape tugged uselessly on his arm trying desperately to get Carrow's attention. The blasted man was cutting off his circulation for Merlin's sake.

"We need to leave," he snapped at the much larger man. Cold green eyes stared in to his and the crushing grip on his arm disappeared. Snape glared up at Carrow who had gone back to watching the vapour trails of aeroplanes before holding out his wand hand.

The Knight Bus appeared in front of them with a bang in all its purple glory. The spotty young conductor cleared his throat and launched in to his pre-prepared speech, "Welcome to the Knight Bu..." the colour drained from his face as he took in his audience, "Oh no it's them!"

OOOOOO

Dumbledore savagely stirred the generous dollop of honey in to his porridge. He had no idea what Carrow had got up to at Gringotts or the wider alley. It was useless asking the blasted man and Severus was being surprisingly tight-lipped about the whole thing. Off course Carrow had made himself rather visible so inevitably Fudge had turned up at Hogwarts demanding to meet with the returned Harry Potter, just to check up on his general health and well-being of course.

Dumbledore gave the porridge another vicious stab. He'd tried desperately to stall the Minister and placate him. Carrow was, after all, unfamiliar with their world and would need protecting from the political machinations of people like Minister Fudge and Malfoy Senior, or that's what he'd thought.

OOOOOO

Dumbledore had finally managed to persuade Fudge that now was not the time to see young Harry when the wards alerted him to Minerva using the password to his office. His heart sank as he heard the ridiculously deep rumbling growl that could only belong to one person closely followed by Minerva's sharp retort.

Fudge and his entourage of Auror body-guards turned at the unknown and unusual voice. Fudge inwardly winced desperately hoping that it wasn't that half-giant oaf Hagrid that Dumbledore insisted on keeping around. He was soon disabused of this notion when, after Minerva McGonagall had entered the room a very tall, very large and intimidating figure eased his way through the door. The mysterious man who bore an incredible resemblance to James Potter scanned the room with his intensely green eyes before locking his glacial gaze on Fudge.

Many years later while nursing a bottle of the strongest alcoholic beverage he could find (stuff the glass), Fudge would wish that he'd run screaming from the room at that moment, or at least thrown himself out of the window.

Carrow carefully sized up the current Minister for Magic. The man looked like the typical mediocre affair, very good at smarming up to the right people but dreadful at actually doing his job. Nothing he'd been able to find out about Fudge proved anything otherwise, though it would be best to treat the man with caution because when cornered even the smallest of sump rats would fight back viciously.

Carrow gave the small, fat man in his ridiculous outfit a cold predatory smile, "It's delightful to finally meet you Minister Fudge," he stepped forward shouldering his way through the would-be bodyguards and holding his hand out for the smaller man to shake. Fudge winced as his hand was completely enclosed by the giant's massive appendage.

"I've heard so much about you," the man continued, his voice an impossibly deep growl, his eyes cold and calculating, his smile all predator.

Dumbledore watched with increasing unease as the two men traded meaningless pleasantries over cups of tea, each carefully gauging the other's reactions and non-answers before Carrow decided enough was enough and that they should get down to business.

Carefully putting down the delicate bone china cup Carrow decided to grab the grox by the horns as it were.

"I have a small situation that you may be able to assist me with Minister."

_Ah here it comes_ thought Fudge, Dumbledore must have coached the giant and here were going to be the demands he wouldn't voice himself.

"This morning I visited Gringotts." Carrow pursed his lips in annoyance,

"While I was researching the nature of the accounts and properties my blood parents left me I discovered that legally I'm regarded as a minor,"

He sneered in disgust,

"I think we'll both agree that I am most definitely an adult."

Carrow slowly leaned forward, staring intently at the smaller man,

"What can be done legally about this misunderstanding? You understand that your assistance in this will render me very much...in your debt."

Fudge blinked in surprise, that wasn't quite what he'd expected but the wonderful possibilities it could produce. The Potter family were rumoured to be as wealthy as the Malfoys and they also had a seat on the Wizengemont, not that James had taken much notice of it but then he really hadn't had the opportunity.

So how could he possibly help this potential gold mine?

Squinting at the strange man Fudge could see that there was no mistaking this giant of a man for a twelve year old boy. He was just too old, cold and touched by the sharp end of life, and just look at the size of him! He'd never known that the Potter family had dormant Giant blood. It had obviously come out in Harry with a vengence.

"What happened?" he finally asked.

Carrow sighed in frustration. Was he fated to have to explain himself to every single-brain-celled organism he met?

"I grew up Minister and lived my life. My physical age is around 297. I'm not entirely sure of the exact number for various reasons." Resigned he continued to give the little slime a rough outline of his circumstances and how he'd ended up back at Hogwarts.

Fudge was frozen in shock; really the situation just got stranger and stranger.

"Well," he began slowly, "there really isn't any official way of declaring a minor of age. It just doesn't happen,"

He stared again at the shockingly large man seated in front of him.

"Your situation is completely unique. I'd even go so far to say that it has never been seen before, ever."

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully,

"I suppose what I could do is put forward a one-time bill to declare you of age; it would let you have all the rights and responsibilities of an adult though you may have to have some sort of advisor or mentor until 1997 when you would have come of age."

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully,

"Yes...yes...I'm sure that would work; a special bill to address your unique situation. In the mean time of course the law considers you to be twelve so I'm afraid you'll have to stay here at Hogwarts until it goes through. It could take some months."

" And of course this will apply to the...muggle world I believe you call it too?" Carrow narrowed his eyes at the pompus little man sitting in front of him.

"I'm sure we can do something about that," Fudge nervously smiled beginning to sweat slightly .

Carrow nodded slightly in acceptance. He knew it wouldn't be simple but he was patient.

Picking up the teapot and strainer Dumbledore offered more tea around and the conversation stalled as they savoured the scent of bergamot from the Earl Grey and the citrus tang from the carefully sliced pieces of lemon in each cup.

The conversation drifted off on to other topics then as Carrow took this as an opportunity to question Fudge on his political policies and allegiances, what the chameleon like creature had any way.

Dumbledore spent the entire conversation increasing unease building in his mind. Carrow was up to something and he wasn't sure what it was. He was also certain that Carrow would never admit to any thing if outright questioned. His mind drifted back to the conversation as Carrow started to ask about the elections that were going to be held next year.

"Such a pity that I'm not currently in a financial position to assist you," Carrow was saying.

Dumbledore inwardly sighed. He had a little feeling the large man would defiantly want to take up his seat in the Wizengamont and that he would turn out to be an absolute pest when he did. There were all sorts of carefully laid plans that he really didn't want something as maverick and unpredictable as Carrow near, on the other hand did he really want him in constant residence at Hogwarts for the near future either? Decisions, decisions.

OOOOOO

Dumbledore glared at his porridge again. When Fudge had finally gone he'd been left with a very smug Carrow and an uneasy feeling in his gut. He'd never really felt pity for the small, pompous man before but it was so clear that he didn't really see Carrow for what he was, large, highly intelligent, manipulative, and extremely dangerous. Yes, the thought of Carrow in the Wizengamont made cold shivers run up and down Dumbledore's spine.

Which moved him on to the last disaster of yesterday. You'd think he'd have learnt by now that Carrow was a menace to everything and everyone around him. Dumbledore sighed to himself, he'd actually decided to go ahead and re-introduce Carrow to his childhood friends despite his increasing misgivings. Yet another thing that didn't go quite as he thought it would.

Did Carrow exhibit happiness at being reunited with his lost childhood friends? Did he even display nostalgia? Maybe a tear in his eyes? No he did not. In fact he was entirely calculating about the whole thing.

OOOOOO

Dumbledore had found himself becoming increasingly nervous as the afternoon had progressed. He'd started to have real misgivings about Carrow particularly after watching his performance with Fudge at lunch. All he could do was put on a brave face and carry on with his plans for the man. Maybe facing some familiar faces, people he'd become very close to as a child, would help him to open up a little.

The hard part had been cornering the blasted man and persuading him to go to dinner. Dumbledore had searched around the castle before finding him holed up in the old fencing hall which he was busily making his own. Carrow had been actively bad tempered; it must have been a very good book he was reading.

Carrow was furious with the obnoxious old man. How dare he interrupt his prayers. Nothing interrupted him, not even rampaging orks, and now when he could actually feel the God-Emperor's presence, His living presence, just over the horizon, now an interruption was utterly unforgivable. Truly he should tear the man's head off here and now for this...but unfortunately he needed him and truly the aftermath would be too annoying to deal with, it currently wasn't worth it.

He resigned himself to finishing his daily reading in the noisy great hall; he'd had to do similar before in far worse conditions.

Dumbledore sighed in relief as Carrow settled down to his book. Minerva had strict instructions to corral the youngest Weasley and Miss Granger while he kept an eye on Carrow and made sure he didn't do his disappearing act near the end of the meal. Confident everything was in place and nothing could go wrong Dumbledore was able to sit and enjoy his dinner.

Carrow finished his prayers closing his common book with its engraved gold covers with a snap, kissing the Aquilia on the front. Carefully putting the precious book away in its custom pouch he looked up to realise that he had gained an audience.

There standing in a row watching with bemusement were Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape, and with them were two tiny figures bearing familiar faces from such a long time ago he should barely remember them, a slight girl with bushy brown hair and unfortunately large incisors and a lanky boy with a shock of very red hair and a face that screamed FRECKLES.

Carrow narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore amused more than anything else. The old man was probably hoping that he would become emotional perhaps, desperate to be reunited with his very first friends.

Carrow slowly stood to his full height and strode towards the small group, his borrowed robe swirling around his feet. He had a horrible suspicion that the thing was a school robe enlarged in some way with house marks and the school crest removed. The sooner his own garments arrived the better. He came to a halt before the small group, the tallest adult only coming to his chest while the two children barely came to his waist.

Granger had obviously recognised him as her eyes suddenly went comically round. "Harry?" she squeaked out. The red head's eye went almost as wide while his mouth dropped open wide enough to catch passing swans unaware. Throwing caution to the wind she threw herself at him trying to hug as much of his waist as she could before bursting in to tears.

Carrow looked down in faint surprise at the frizzy damp limpet which he had suddenly acquired. In between her sobs she managed to choke out sentences but it was all so muffled Carrow found he had difficulty following her. The gist seemed to be that she had really missed him, she'd been worried sick for his personal safety, she'd been terrified that he'd been kidnapped, tortured, horrifically tormented...the list went on and on.

Carrow listened in increasing amusement, since most of what she had worried about had actually happened to him at one point or another, but her tone suggested that she was plumbing the depths of the utterly worst her imagination could come up with.

Hermione Granger was wrenched out of her tears by the strange rumbling sound that was reverberating around the Great Hall and vibrating through her body as she clung to the giant that Harry had apparently become. She trying to place exactly what was occurring before she realised with a start that it was laughter, deep and resonate. He had found her amusing. She looked up slowly dreading what she would see.

Carrow looked down at the small girl-child as she looked up at him with fearful eyes. He attempted a reassuring smile but had a suspicion that he hadn't quite been able to carry it off. He really wasn't built for reassuring, not at all.

He tried again.

"Peace child," he said, attempting the smile again, "yes I have indeed experienced all that you spoke of and worse, and I have withstood them all. I am made of sterner stuff." He tried the reassuring smile again, maybe it was a matter of practise.

The girl-child had gone exceedingly pale and sweaty but at least she'd stopped the sobbing and dripping. Carrow breathed a sigh of relief, he wasn't used to dealing diplomatically with crying anything. Normally people who cried in front of him were begging for mercy which he gladly gave them via a bolter round to the head.

"Sit, sit," he directed the two children to one of the benches before sitting opposite them on the other side of aisle. Incongruously in the eyes of his audience he had seated himself at the Hufflepuff table. He leaned forward elbows on his knees carefully examining the two children. Really the girl Hermione was starting to look rather grey-faced.

"Are you well child?" he asked. Her breathing was starting to hitch oddly. Snape rushed forward, pushing a small vial in to the girl's hands and coaxing her to drink the contents.

Some form of shock maybe. He'd occasionally seen that in guardsmen who'd experienced too much. They didn't tend to survive for very long, but those who did came out stronger for it. And here they were covering up the child's opportunity for growth with medication. He shook his head in irritation ignoring the glares of the teachers.

Now he had the problem of how to proceed with this situation since he wasn't at all experienced with dealing with children. Well there were some of the softer interrogation techniques he supposed narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. It was probably the best method for weighing up the quality of their characters, their moral values, and how they performed under pressure.

Never one to back down regardless of the appropriateness of his actions, or even the familiarity of the situation, Carrow ploughed ahead with his chosen course of action.

"Is your chosen name your given name or your personal preference?"

"Is there any record of criminality in your family?"

"A stranger unknowingly drops money on the ground when walking past you. What do you do?"

Dumbledore covered his eyes in horror at the disaster unfolding in front of him while McGonagall had covered her ears as if she could un-hear what the awful man was perpetrating on two of the students under her care. Snape on the other hand was trying to hide his grin behind one hand. Really, he could have predicted something like this would happen, but of course they never listened to him. There was always the pleasure of spreading the pain that was Carrow around. He was definitely putting this memory in a pensive for hours of viewing pleasure.

Hermione became more and more upset, bewildered and angry under the barrage of questions; she could almost sense Ron's bewilderment at the strange and overly large man that their best friend had turned in to. It was painfully obvious he had no clue how to deal with them at all.

Unable to contain herself any longer, she stood up and stomped over to "almost Harry" only stopping when she was nearly nose to nose with him.

"How can you ask such horrible questions?" she shouted, stamping a foot, "You left us with no warning and with no idea where you were. We're the ones who need answers..." on and on she went finally able to vent all of the panic and fear she had been feeling for the safety of her disappeared very first and best friend..."and this is for being horrible to us!" Drawing back one fist she punched the horrible man as hard as she could on the jaw.

With that she stormed out of the hall barely holding back the tears for her lost friend. Ron looked in confusion from Hermione to Carrow and back again before rushing after the upset girl.

Carrow blinked in surprise. The punch hadn't been very hard at all and her technique was terrible, but it was the fact that she had done it at all. Little Miss Granger was a very interesting person indeed, and he wanted her.

Carrow's musings were interrupted by a barely suppressed laugh that turned in to a roar as Snape finally lost control of his amusement and had to sit down, tears pouring down his face.

OOOOOO

Dumbledore snarled at his poor defenceless porridge. He didn't blame Miss Granger for punching the man. How could he when she had done something he desperately wanted to do himself. Which returned him to the question he was dreading. Where was Carrow? He didn't appear to be in the castle, and the thought of the trouble he was probably causing made Dumbledore shiver in dread.

McGonagall had been watching the headmaster with concern for a while, leaning over she asked "Are you feeling quite well Albus? Do you need to go and see Poppy?"

Dumbledore opened his mouth, about to voice his concerns about the current location of The Menace when the screaming started. He jerked round in the direction of the doors, his bulging in shock as he watched Carrow in full armour physically man-handle a full grown and still living acroumantula towards the staff table. He blinked in shock and looked unseeing at his porridge. What were the house-elves putting in the food? He looked up again. No the awful apparition was still there lugging its twitching, chittering cargo up the middle of the Great Hall.

Carrow wrestled the giant arachnid in front of Snape, smirking to himself. The man had demanded that it was to be delivered to his feet. He'd even pointed to the ground in front of his feet to emphasise his point. Carrow was just following the man's instructions to the absolute letter.

"I found the largest, healthiest looking specimen I could," he announced with a nod, "I thought I would give it the killing blow in front of you so that you could be assured of the freshness."

Snape nodded, numb with shock.

Carrow pulled out his boot-knife, "Is in the brain-stem acceptable?" he asked brandishing the monomolecular edged blade. Snape could only nod again, eyes wide in shock.

Deftly wrestling the struggling creature in to submission, Carrow quickly and efficiently slid the wickedly sharp blade between two chitinous plates at the back of its head. The creature's movements became spasmodic, before it relaxed in death. Carrow stood back admiring his handiwork before carefully cleaning his blade and sheathing it.

Snape rushed round the table clutching in one hand his potions ingredients collection kit that he'd had a house-elf quickly fetch him. He was eager to get set in to the task of processing this incredible bounty he'd just been given. He'd only been expecting a chunk or two, maybe part of a shed skin when he'd demanded that Carrow gave him an acromantula in payment for the trip to Diagon Alley. No, Carrow really had gone to great lengths for him and procured him a living adult. He could already see himself being published again. Who knew what properties fresh Aromantula eyeballs had as they didn't preserve very well and were incredibly difficult to get. And what about their heart-strings? Another hard to obtain ingredient, particularly fresh.

Carrow stood back watching with interest as Snape rushed around the carcass dissecting it, removing various body parts and storing them in a multitude of vials, jars and other containers. Apparently this specimen was acceptable as the man was quivering with excitement and muttering under his breath about the various possibilities now open to him.

In fact some of the older and more curious students had crept closer for a better view of the proceedings while a couple of the Ravenclaws were taking notes of the professor's not-so-quiet mutterings. Carrow was surprised there weren't more children gathered round for this (to them) unique experience.

Carrow sniffed delicately, there just under the scent of the dismembered carcass was the smell of vomit. Mildly puzzled he turned taking in the sight of utter carnage wrought by bringing a spider the size of a transit van into the same room as hundreds of breakfasting 11 to 17 year olds.

Sobbing and stunned students cowered against the walls, those that hadn't fled, the tables covered in abandoned meals, books and last minute homework. More than one child had vomited in their fear and panic. A couple of the teachers were trying their best to control the mayhem while the medicae woman dosed the students with some sort of mood suppressor. Considering the utterly vicious looks she kept giving him he wasn't going over there any time soon. At the teacher's table Dumbledore was attempting to sooth a hysterically sobbing Hagrid. The headmaster glanced up at that moment and the look he levelled at Carrow was positively murderous.

_Oh Throne on Terra_ thought Carrow; this was going to be worse than the fallout from the prank he'd once perpetrated involving the Planetary Governor with the lacy ladies unmentionables fetish, the Sister Superior of the Order of the Bleeding Heart and one thousand gallons of starch. Why do these people never have a sense of humour?


	5. Chapter 5

Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who have a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.

I should also say a big thank-you to my very patient Beta Jacobus-minoris who has read and reread my writing, pointed out my grammatical mistakes, questioned the suitability of some of my wilder ideas as well as putting up with my long winded rants about plot ideas.

Chapter 5

Autumn finally lost its grip on the Forbidden Forest as the trees lost their golden mantle and the days became ever shorter and colder. Frost coated the ground and soon the first snow falls appeared transforming the dark and forbidding landscape in to a winter wonderland and Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in to a veritable fairy tale castle frosted white and sparkling in the low winter sunlight. The beauty and peace of the exterior however disguised the dark and fearful mood inside the castle.

The dark and menacing presence of Inquisitor Alessandor Darius Carrow had had a rather dampening effect on the normal student exuberance particularly after the Weasley twins had attempted to prank the man. He had apparently retaliated in kind as they had appeared at breakfast the next morning walking rather oddly. Every attempt to persuade the unusually subdued Messers Weasley to talk about precisely what the awful man had done had ended in failure. Attempts to question Mr Carrow only resulted in evasion and outright refusals.

Much more sinister though was the rash of nightmares that seemed to be plaguing staff and students alike irrespective of background, gender or age. Those so afflicted also reported shadows that followed them around the castle and whispering voices just on the edge of hearing.

Madam Pomfrey was kept rather busy dosing the more sensitive with calming drafts and carefully proscribing dreamless sleep potion. For some reason she seemed to believe that Carrow was responsible for this latest pandemic of mayhem though she couldn't prove it in any way.

Towards the middle of December Gilderoy Lockhart apparently noticed the sombre mood within the castle, and in a move that would puzzle many, decided that the way to cheer everyone up would be to try and start a duelling club, with himself in the starring role, naturally.

OOOOOO

An exhausted Snape scowled in annoyance as he watched what looked like most of the school's student population pour into the Great Hall. On top of the raised golden-swathed duelling platform which now dominated the centre of the large space was the perpetrator of this evening's travesty, one Gilderoy Lockhart. He was perched at one end of the platform wearing hideously over the top robes of peacock blue covered in gold ruffles and completed with a matching floppy hat. Hair carefully curled and teeth gleaming white as he smiled blindingly at the gathered students.

Filius Flitwick stood by Snape's side, puzzled as to how he'd been roped in to this potentially embarrassing spectacle. Wincing, he watched the figure of their esteemed colleague prance up and down the platform gesticulating wildly and striking what he obviously thought were heroic poses to the obvious delight of much of the female student population most of whom should really have know better.

Snape looked around the hall warily for the other menace to sanity that Hogwarts was currently playing host to. This time the threat was real.

After the disastrous incident with the acromantula, it had been decided that Carrow needed to be occupied, as he was obviously bored. Since the man had no qualifications recognised in the Wizarding World it was suggested by all that a course of self-study to remedy this would be a very good thing. A month of prolonged contact with the man as he prepared for the OWL and NEWT exams at the end of the school year revealed some uncomfortable truths. The main one was that, really Carrow wasn't arrogant just like his biological father. Oh no, Carrow managed to make James Charlus Potter (aged 14) look like a shy, humble, considerate and, above all, compassionate young man. Snape was seriously wondering when the population of Earth was going to have to move to the Moon after losing the battle for living space with Carrow's gigantic ego.

And that was before one even got on to the man's appalling dress sense once he'd got his own clothes. Carrow's favourite outfit looked like the creation of an insane Napoleonic era tailor to the Prussian Army who'd smoked a really bad mushroom in an ossuary. The only good thing Snape could think to say about the man's fashion sense was at least he wore mainly black.

Filius elbowed him sharply in the waist, nodding towards the platform where the prancing idiot was striking what he must have thought were duelling positions. Filius, a seasoned international duellist, put his head in his hands, groaning at the horrors the moron was perpetrating.

Snape sneered in disgust at the sight. The man had obviously read too many romantic adventure novels aimed at thirteen year old girls. Maybe someone should break it to him that they were not real. To his horror, Lockhart was actually gesturing to him to come up to the platform. Snape looked around discreetly. Unfortunately, he couldn't see any way out of this, nor could he see any sign of Carrow. That was slightly worrying, as the man seemed to adore anything that even remotely suggested violence, making a bee-line towards it and causing utter havoc in the process.

Reluctantly he made his way towards the platform before climbing up beside the style disaster that was Lockhart. The man was churning out utter nonsense with regards to shield charms and their use when duelling, hadn't he heard of dodging.

"...and now my lovely assistant Professor Snape will help me demonstrate the use of the shielding charm in a combat situation."

Snape grinned evilly at the silly man; he'd been waiting for an opportunity just like this for the last twenty minutes. As they moved into position, Snape pondered. Was Lockhart a fraud who'd built up this elaborate persona as part of his game? Or, did he really believe what he said? Snape couldn't decide which scenario was worse.

As Lockhart waved his wand in elaborate and ostentatious gestures, Snape got straight to the point, clearly enunciating "Expelliarmus!" for all to hear, while putting as much force in to it as he could.

His efforts were rewarded with the sight of the ponce somersaulting backwards off the platform, momentarily revealing his matching ruffled pantaloons to the entire room. A ripple of muffled laughter drifted out across the hall, and Snape quietly enjoyed the unusual feeling of having the student body on his side for once.

Deciding to make something constructive out of this ridiculous event Snape turned to his much shorter colleague. "Now that the light entertainment is out of the way, would you care to join me in a friendly duel, Filius?"

The little man grinned eagerly. "Don't mind if I do Severus!"

For the next five minutes the students present were to have the privilege of witnessing a duel between an international champion duellist (retired), Professor Flitwick, and one of the most talented defence masters of his generation, Professor Snape. An event that was sure to go down in Hogwarts legend.

Standing in a shadowy corner Carrow watched the duel in fascination. The combatants traded spells, dodging, weaving and conjuring obstructions in a dazzling display of flashes of coloured light and objects momentarily popping in to existence. Their techniques were geared around one-on-one combat. By contrast, the sorcery of combat he was familiar with was much more powerful and able to affect a greater area but more limited in the range of effects it produced. It was devastatingly effective on a battle field, but sometimes subtlety was useful, and so he had set himself the task of learning as much as he could about the Wizarding World's techniques in this matter. The sheer range of cantrips that the two men were using was fascinating. He was certain that neither of them had used the same one twice. Had so much knowledge been lost on humanity's journey in to the future? This further supported his theory that the Wizarding World had not long to survive unless it received intervention, and he was just the man to provide it.

Snape and Flitwick finished their duel with a flourish, neither of them the clear winner, to rapturous applause from the appreciative students.

"We should do that again sometime," a delighted Flitwick squeaked, bouncing on his feet and hyper on his own adrenaline.

Snape almost smiled and nodded his agreement, "Indeed, it would be agreeable."

A deep rumbling sound as of a giant clearing its throat caused them to snap round wands at the ready.

Snape blinked in surprise. How could such a large man hide in plain view? He swore he wasn't present when they started.

He blinked again at Carrow's rather startling attire. What was with this man and his dress sense? In his way he was as vain and flamboyant as Lockhart. Today he was looking like the high priest of a particularly nasty death cult (cannibalism optional) who'd taken a wrong turn out of the temple.

More disturbingly Miss Granger was standing by Carrow's side gazing up at the man with an expression more normally reserved for eight week old Persian kittens playing with pieces of string.

"This was an extremely interesting display," Carrow rumbled at them, "and your techniques are obviously effective against a single opponent or possibly a few...but what do you use for multiple opponents, or in a full scale battle?"

Snape and Flitwick looked at one another bewildered.

Carrow sighed softly, exasperated at the little peasants, "Do you have wide-area effect combat magics?" he ground out slowly, "I have been searching for something of the like in the library here and have failed to find so much as a mention of such a thing."

Snape felt his stomach sink. This was going to be like the extremely disturbing conversation about torture techniques that they had had last week. He really could have lived without knowing that Carrow's mentor had gifted him a set of needles for the purpose on his ascension to full Inquisitor. He also could have lived without finding out that the nasty things had delicately carved ivory handles in the form of figures in the throes of agony.

Flitwick saved the day as he explained to Carrow that the insular nature of the Wizarding World tended to minimize the size of the rare magical battles that did take place and that confrontations between individual wizards was far more common hence the importance of duelling.

Sometimes of course muggle conflicts spilled over in to the Wizarding World such as the Second World War and the conflict with Grindelwald. Then a specialised force of wizards had been raised to assist the muggle armies in their struggles to maintain freedom in Europe.

"...my uncle Frederick was heavily involved in the fight against Grindelwald and wrote a book about his experiences called "On the Front Line". It's rather good," Flitwick smiled broadly, "I believe the library has a copy of it."

Carrow nodded his thanks and silently drifted out of the hall intent on retrieving a potentially interesting book from the library before the Ravenclaw students could get their grubby little hands on it.

As he walked away he heard the sound of footsteps. A quick glance revealed a shock of familiar red hair. Carrow stepped into the shadows of a bend in the corridor before turning. It was definitely the puppeted girl-child. Now he had a small dilemma. Did he retrieve the book or follow the girl-child?

_Duty always comes first_ he thought as he followed the tiny red-head at a distance.

OOOOOO

Carefully slipping noiselessly from shadow to shadow Carrow followed the slight form of the puppeted girl-child. He'd been discretely keeping an eye on her for the past month, following her whenever he had the opportunity. On several occasions he had witnessed her behaviour change from that of the shy, timid child to the purposeful and confident creature that she currently was. The red eyes were a bit of a give-away too, as was the warp-stink. He was increasingly convinced that this was not being perpetrated by some distant warp-walking individual with malevolent intent but by something much worse and far more familiar.

In fact it reminded him of a case he had worked on Galatia X, where a member of a prestigious and very rich merchant family had been possessed, resulting in all sorts of havoc, and the purging of a small city with the aid of an orbital strike. The thing of note in this case had been that the possession had resulted through prolonged contact with an object in which the demon had been trapped some centuries before. The tainting and eventual possession had been a long and subtle affair, meaning that by the time it became obvious it was far too late.

The problem was the possible demon didn't feel like the ones he was used to dealing with. It felt almost primitive, cruder in some way. He'd also been having difficulties working out what the possible daemon's vessel was, probably something small and portable, jewellery of some sort maybe. In the mean time all he could do was watch and catalogue her behaviour.

On one occasion she had proceeded to kill all the school's chickens, snapping their necks with her bare hands. And on another occasion she had walked deep in to the forest where the possession lifted leaving a terrified girl far from safety. He'd shadowed her all the way back to the castle keeping her safe from a distance. Most of the time she appeared to wander aimlessly muttering intelligibly to herself.

This time she was finally heading in the direction of the second floor girls' lavatories. Carrow silently rejoiced; hopefully this would clear up the mystery of the secret passage or room behind the fake sink.

As Miss Weasley slipped in to the lavatories Carrow silently crept up to the door. A hissing sibilance was followed by the grinding of stone on stone and then silence. Sideling through the irritatingly small door, gun at the ready, Carrow saw that the far basin had retracted revealing a dark hole in the floor. The air gusting out of it stunk of damp, rot and some sort of creature, possibly reptilian in nature.

His contemplation of the slimy, dank space was broken when the sounds of dry rustling and scraping started to be carried up and the smell of creature became stronger. Carrow retreated from the room careful to leave no trace of his presence.

Hiding in a shadowy corner he watched in fascination as a large snake eased its way out of the door its large body scraping against the floor and door surround. Its black scales gleamed softly in the dim light, the paler under belly standing out in contrast. The large creature's head swung from side to side, forked tongue tasting the air, red crest shivering in the cool air, golden eyes almost luminescent.

Carrow was disappointed. A giant snake? That was it? This was the creature that had put a student in some form of stasis? If he was any judge a simple head shot should sort this out.

Drifting silently from shadow to shadow, Carrow followed the unlikely pair as they travelled through rarely used corridors towards more populated areas of the school. Sounds of occupation could now be heard, the distant chatter of students and occasionally footsteps. One set in particular was becoming increasingly audible, as a student took a short cut towards the lower levels of the school. Around the corner appeared a lanky blonde haired boy, eyes to the ground, lost in thought and completely oblivious to how close to death he was.

It was at this exact moment that Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington drifted through the wall looking round in case that gigantic menace that used to be Harry Potter was hanging around. What he saw was many times worse as the basilisk concentrated the full force of its stare on the intruder. The student hearing the ghostly gasp looked up straight in to the basilisk stare channelled through the transparent body of Sir Nicholas.

Carrow raised an eyebrow. Well, that was interesting and confirmed his suspicion that the possession of the girl-child and the induced stasis were linked in some way. That was an extremely interesting weapon the creature possessed, and highly dangerous too in its way. All the more reason to eliminate the snake. Bursting out of cover he raised his pistol sighting on the snake's head, which, sensing the movement behind it swung round levelling the full brunt of its dreadful gaze on the now exposed Carrow.

OOOOOO

Dumbledore paced back and forth in his office, from the window overlooking the snow coated mountains and icy lake, past the stands and whatnots with their collections of curious magical instruments to the bookcases full of esoteric leather bound tomes, and back again.

The cause of his many troubled thoughts was one very large individual i.e. Alessandor Darius Carrow.

Gone was the shy but rather sweet little boy he'd found himself becoming increasingly fond of last year and now in his place was this...this thing. A man who was aggressive, egotistical, who seemed to think that the word "no" did not apply to him in any shape or form, who was obsessed with death and violence, who tracked him down at least five times a week to make demands with regards to the Potter finances and properties.

Most of the things Carrow wanted to do with the Potter money Dumbledore couldn't for the life of him understand, so he would find himself sitting in the Potter account manager's office at Gringotts, while Carrow and the goblins ganged up on him. He was sure all this investing money in muggle companies was a very bad idea, and what in Merlin's name were telecommunications and microprocessors any way?

And then there was the nightmare involving the Potter family home otherwise known as "The Lodge". Originally it had been a Norman Castle of the mott and bailey variety before becoming a Royal hunting lodge. At some point during the 16th Century it had come in to the possession of the Potter family and had been their family seat ever since. It wasn't a particularly large or grand house such as Malfoy manor, but it did have a certain charm to it with its Tudor red-brick additions to the original Norman construction.

Carrow had taken one look at the property with its large leaded windows and decorative brick work, and started bemoaning the lack of physical defences. Dumbledore had pointed out that the property had already got large high quality magical wards in place. Carrow had pointed out that they could easily be brought down given enough time, and then what? Dumbledore had conceded defeat at this point. If Carrow wanted to defend his home against imaginary armies, who was he to stop him? The man was now spending a small fortune on Merlin-knew-what to rectify this perceived deficit in his family's home.

The sooner Carrow's special bill got through the Wizengamot the better. Dumbledore had been encouraging it through as quickly as he could. If all went well he'd be shot of the awful man by July, August at the latest and then hopefully he wouldn't feel quite so much like a lumpy doormat in front of the Potter vaults.

In the meantime, though, they were all stuck with him.

Dumbledore paced back across his office pausing by Fawkes to give him a stroke. The poor bird had found Carrow's appearance extremely disconcerting and had made him-self scarce at every possible opportunity.

Even their attempts at integrating the man hadn't gone quite to plan, Dumbledore thought, as he blindly stared at the books in front of him. Distracting Carrow with self-directed study had worked well up to a point, but then he'd realised they were just giving the wretched man more tools to put in his arsenal, and was that really a good idea?

This had become particularly clear when he had spied Carrow in the library only a few days ago huddled over a collection of books on topics ranging from permanent enchantment and golems to the practical applications of runes. Dumbledore had felt a cold shiver run down his spine, as if someone had taken a stroll over his grave, as he saw the excited gleam in Carrow's eyes as he furiously took notes on his reading materials.

And then there had been the incident with Lockhart. He was quite happy to admit that it was his idea to persuade Carrow to sit in on some of the lessons for the older students. Everything seemed to be going well until a student had been unable to adequately explain his badly bruised wrist and then some truths had come to light.

Carrow had sat in on one of Lockhart's classes. Unimpressed with the man's teaching techniques he'd turned it in to an opportunity to demonstrate some of his "soft" interrogation techniques questioning the man about incidents in his book until he'd been reduced to a sobbing heap.

Not one to back down in any situation Carrow had taken over the class and had started teaching the students basic hand-to-hand combat and showed them ways to combine this with their magic.

Not content with doing this just once Carrow had started doing this for as many of Lockhart's classes as he could, ambushing the man, incapacitating him and taking over.

Unbelievably not a single student had come forward to complain.

What he really needed was a stiff drink. A quick rummage in his drinks cabinet resulted in half a bottle of fire-whisky and absolutely no glasses. Had he really being drinking that much? Considering the stress he'd been under recently it probably wasn't surprising, and he had a feeling it was affecting his judgment.

Take the matter of Miss Granger for example.

He had really, truthfully, honestly hoped that both Miss Granger and Mr Weasley could be a good influence on Carrow. His plan had failed utterly.

Carrow was extremely polite but distant to Mr Weasley. On the other hand he was now actively seeking to befriend Miss Granger, going to great lengths to reconnect with her. Miss Granger seemed to be enjoying the man's company, as they explored the library together, looking up obscure and little used magics and debating the merits of various Wizarding laws and traditions.

But really the man was about as far from a good influence as it was possible to get. He dreaded to think what Carrow would eventually persuade the poor naive, innocent girl to do.

Dumbledore hesitated to call Carrow "dark" because frankly the term didn't even begin to describe him. Somehow it was just too...mild.

Now where were the glasses? He searched around but even a poke through the ever increasing piles of paperwork on his desk failed to reveal a suitable prize.

_Well blast it_ he thought _Stuff the glass._

He was just about to take a hearty swig from the bottle when McGonagall burst through the door. Seeing him she froze to the spot, mouth open.

"Albus, what are you doing?" she exclaimed.

OOOOOO

He fought with all his will against the tugging sensation trying to pull him in to the dark. Black fingers wrapping around his very being, voices at the edge of hearing calling out to him and the distant sound of running water, as if a mighty river flowed just on the other side of...there. He resisted the temptation to give in, clinging to the light with all his will, his strength of duty and faith in the God-Emperor driving him on. With one final, mighty heave he threw off the shadowy hands clawing at him and found himself back in reality.

He blinked; still sighting down his pistol he could see the cursed snake was gone! As was the girl-child. Now the corridor was filled with teaching staff who had been examining the fallen figures of the boy-child and the spectre. He frantically turned on the spot, nothing. It had got away. He had underestimated it and it had got away! He ran back along the corridor, gun at the ready, heading for the lavatories.

Skidding to a halt by the door he checked for noises from within. Nothing. He crashed through the door in a shower of splintering wood, gun held before him at the ready.

The lavatories were as still as the grave, no hole in the floor, no snake, no puppeted girl-child, not even that ridiculous wailing haunting who seemed to be associated with this particular room. Nothing. Approaching the very last basin revealed the same pattern of smudges of muck and slime around the edge of the secret entrance. It was the only indication that anything at all had happened here.

He, Inquisitor Alessandor Darrius Carrow, had been bested by a large and unimpressive worm with a nasty glare. His anger rose. He had underestimated an easy-to-kill creature, and in his arrogance had exposed himself to its psychic attack.

Bellowing his rage and embarrassment he drove his fist through the basin in front of him in an explosion of porcelain shards which rained down, tinkling as they further shattered on contact with the floor.

He could practically see Scout-Seargent Tarkus shouting him out for his stupidity and complacency. Never underestimate the enemy, it only got you dead. He could just imagine the richly deserved thrashing the cantankerous old man would have given him too.

He needed to get away from this place for a while and think, and nurse his injured pride, if he was being honest with himself. With that he barrelled through the door unknowingly bowling over and scattering the shaken teaching staff who had gathered there.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who has a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.

I should also say a big thank-you to my very patient Beta Jacobus-minoris who has read and reread my writing, pointed out my grammatical mistakes, questioned the suitability of some of my wilder ideas as well as putting up with my long winded rants about plot ideas.

Author's Note 

A big thank-you to Justpucky, BlunderBore, 917Brat, Rampaging crabs, Ankoth and even Felius and Mr Guest who taken the time to review.I really appreciate it and it encourages me even more to carefully polish my ideas and write till my hands drops off.

To Mr Guest, well I see Carrow as being rather like a large cat, curious, lithe, powerful and deadly but also occasionally prone to accidents involving the flip-top bin of life. Normally he thinks about his actions and plans ahead, even has several plans that might work but every so often he rushes in to a situation without thinking, mis-judges it and ends up looking very silly just like he does with his first meeting with the basilisk.

Chapter 6

Dumbledore paced back and forth in front of his desk, his senior staff watching him. He was not looking forward to the confrontation that was probably going to occur.

Carrow's charge through the door had nearly severely injured the staff present in the office; as it was, poor Minerva had suffered a broken wrist, and Flitwick had bruised his coccyx. It could have been so much worse.

A sharp knock on the door announced Snape's arrival. He quietly entered the room, stepping to one side to allow Carrow to shoulder his way through sideways, annoyance at the size of the opening clearly visible on his face. He pulled himself upright, the hem of his embossed leather cassock swirling around his feet, narrowed eyes scanning the room's occupants. They glared back.

"Now that we're all here," Dumbledore said, standing in front of his desk arms behind his back, "we'll get down to business, shall we?"

He glared at the cause of all the latest problems (and to be truthful, the ones before that...and the ones before that).

"You, Mr Carrow are physically a very large and powerful man, considerably more so than ourselves."

Dumbledore's voice became softer and icier as he spoke.

"So...when, yesterday, you charged unthinkingly through that doorway you came very close to killing several senior members of staff."

Carrow's face was a perfect blank. It was infuriating being lectured by a frail and normal human being, and what made it worse was the man was, in a way, correct. He had let his temper rule his head.

"It was very fortunate that Filius has such good reflexes and managed to cast cushioning charms in time."

Carrow closed his eyes and took a deep calming breath. He knew where this was going, and while it was galling to have to apologise to such small and puny people, it was a suitable penance for his unseemly behaviour. He had, after-all, "tripped over his giant ego" as Scout-Sergeant Tarkus would have said, (shouted rather).

Right now he needed these people rather more than they needed him...probably, and having them at least tentatively on his side would likely pay dividends in the future.

"I believe," Dumbledore continued, "that in order for you to continue residing at Hogwarts we are going to need assurances and a guarantee as to your behaviour," he turned to gaze out of the window, "therefore we have decided that it would be best..."

Carrow stood, determined to get the worst over before the old man could start on his perceived moral failings and suggest penance. He really wasn't in to self-flagellation.

"I apologise for my display of temper. I was embarrassed and angry with myself and allowed it to get the better of me blinding me to my surroundings."

Carrow placed his hands together and bowed to each member of the teaching staff in turn. From their stunned fish like expressions they obviously thought that they were going to have to fight him for an apology.

Dumbledore was shocked. He had been certain this whole confrontation was going to turn ugly, hence having all the most experienced members of staff present. So that must mean Carrow thought he was going to get something out of apologising. In other words he was up to something. Dumbledore mentally slapped his forehead; now he was starting to think like the blasted man.

Carrow carefully watched the assembled teachers. Minerva McGonagall, Filius Flitwick, Pomona Sprout...Severus Snape. He was the one most suitable for his purposes...definitely Snape.

OOOOOO

After the meeting Carrow managed to collar Snape for a private conversation.

Snape held the door to his office open as the ridiculously large man shouldered his way through. It was a wonder that they weren't having to mend more doors to be honest, considering the great big lump's temper and strength.

Snape folded his arms and glared at the much larger man.

"Well?" he snapped.

Carrow smirked at him.

"I have a little proposition for you," he said, his smirk growing wider.

Snape raised an eyebrow. Considering the stunt the giant lump pulled with the acromantula, this was not going to be good.

"I know what has been putting the students in stasis," Carrow continued. Snape looked at him blankly.

"Petrifying them," Carrow snarled. He paused, "and I think you," he pointed one huge truncheon like finger at Snape, "would be very interested in this creature for ingredients."

Snape waited and waited, the silence drawing out, Carrow smirking at him.

"And what," he got out through gritted teeth, "is this creature?"

"Ah ah," Carrow waved a gigantic digit, "not so fast." He paused his expression thoughtful, "It is not so simple as just a rogue creature. The attacks and the targets are all orchestrated by a second party. It isn't acting on instinct alone, rather it's being controlled by another."

Carrow bent down until he was nearly nose to nose with Snape.

"I want that being. I'm going to stop them...permanently."

He grinned broadly.

Suppressing a shudder, Snape narrowed his eyes at Carrow as he straightened up.

"Tell the headmaster if this is so important," he snapped.

Carrow looked at him sideways.

"Not a good idea. I doubt his responsibilities would allow him to be so discreet and that is essential in this case. We do not want this...entity becoming aware of the extent to which we hunt it."

"Why me?" Snape was not happy with the way this conversation was going. Carrow was obviously about to pull some outrageous stunt in the castle again. "And what do you mean an entity? If it's harming students..."

Carrow put a finger to Snape's lips effectively silencing the man.

"The entity is my problem. Nobody here has the skills needed to deal with it. As to why you?" Carrow considered the darkly glowering man in front of him. "I understand you to be someone who can stay calm in a dangerous situation, as well as knowing when to stay silent and keep information to himself."

Carrow looked Snape straight in the eye his demeanour completely serious, "Those are both important qualities to me, and you possess both in quantity." Carrow started to smirk again. "But all men have their price, hence the creature."

Snape perked up at this. He was used to being put in uncomfortable and dangerous situations, first by Voldemort and to some extent by Dumbledore. But neither had ever offered him much in the way of compensation.

"So..." he said slowly, eyes narrowed, "this creature..."

Carrow looked at him thoughtfully, "How useful is a basilisk in potions?" he asked.

Snape pondered for a moment,

"They're incredibly rare so very little work has been done on their magical properties due to the paucity in readily available body-parts..."

Snape froze, his mind working in overdrive. Suddenly the student petrifications made more sense.

"The creature is a basilisk?" he said slowly, mind working feverishly, "so why were those two students petrified rather than out right killed?"

Carrow nodded to himself, a good question to ask,

"They did not receive the full effects of the creature's gaze. When I witnessed the second attack, the boy-child saw the basilisk through the spectre."

Carrow looked thoughtful, "And I suspect that the first victim saw the basilisk through his pict-stealer."

He nodded to himself, it made sense.

"And what about you?" Snape asked, "What did you see the basilisk through?"

Carrow blinked, he hadn't. If it hadn't been for his strength of will and his fervent prayers to the God-Emperor he was sure he would have been so much worm-food.

"I didn't," he admitted.

Snape, already pale of face, went a funny grey colour. "What?!" he screeched, staring in shock at the impossible man. "You must be mistaken!" he snarled "I was one of the first people to reach the site of the incident and you were definitely petrified," he glared up at Carrow, "I checked," he hissed.

Carrow gave the little man one of his most chilling smiles, "I can assure you...professor...that I looked straight into the unnatural creature's eyes. I only survived due to the strength of my will and my faith in the God-Emperor."

The silence stretched, uncomfortable and strained as the two men stared each other down.

Finally Snape heaved a sigh, "So...you survived the direct stare of a basilisk...which is impossible by the way," he glared at Carrow.

The large man smirked down at him "I'm all about the impossible." he arrogantly stated, his smirk broadening into a predatory grin full of glittering teeth.

Snape seriously wished this horrible man would go away, far, far away, but it didn't look like it was going to happen any time soon. He also had a feeling that the Death Eaters would probably kick someone like Carrow out on the grounds they were too nasty.

"What about this...entity you seemed so concerned about?" he asked, not sure he really wanted to know.

"Don't worry about that," Carrow smiled coldly, "I have a plan."

Snape shuddered as cold shivers ran down his spine. Maybe he should emigrate to New Zealand.

OOOOOO

"Why are we doing this again?" an exasperated Snape snarled at the looming figure walking in front of him. Carrow turned slightly taking in the smaller figure dragging the levitating box behind him.

"Surveillance, my dear professor," he smirked, "neither of us can be everywhere all the time so this will increase greatly the amount of the castle that we can effectively cover."

Snape nodded his understanding. It was an excellent idea but did Carrow have to be use these...things to carry it out with...and did he have to pick very early on a Sunday morning to deploy them.

He glared at the broad back of the man in front of him. Carrow must have spent days combing the castle for the remains of unfortunate birds that had got caught inside and then died to make these...golems he supposed they were.

At the fateful second floor girls bathroom Carrow carefully peered around the door before ushering Snape and the box in and following himself.

"Why here?" Snape asked, irritated with Carrow's lack of explanations, as he looked around at the shabby interior with its damp floor, mildew stains and cracked mirrors.

Carrow merely reached into the box and carefully pulled out one of his creations. The mummified bird had been transformed, now fully articulated, its joints reinforced with gold wire, gems placed in the eye sockets, the beak covered in gold filigree, and esoteric runes carefully inscribed onto every bone, few of them recognisable to the Potions master.

Snape curled his lip in disgust at the revolting object. So he dealt with some truly disgusting body parts and biological substances, but this bordered on the edge of necromancy and there were some areas of magic where the sane really should not tread.

A soft scraping sound caught his attention and he looked on in some apprehension as Carrow carefully pricked the side of a finger-tip with his boot-knife. Calling the thing a knife was a bit ridiculous; really it was more of a short sword.

Carrow quickly and carefully dabbed the activation rune on the little golem before the small wound could scab and heal over.

Murmuring a small incantation and infusing the rune with his warp-craft the little bird glowed momentarily before flapping its wings, struggling to free itself of Carrow's grip. A few command words later and he allowed the small creature its freedom.

Snape watched the glittering, gruesome not-bird fly up to the high-level cistern where it settled preening and chirping to itself, a curious not-sound that Snape had a feeling that he could only hear because of his magic, before hiding away in a shadowed corner. Just how many laws had Carrow broken to make these things? The blood magic alone would probably land him a short span in Azkaban.

"And that's going to do what precisely?" Snape asked dubiously.

Carrow smirked slightly, "think of it as being an extra pair of eyes on our little problem." He proceeded to poke Snape and the box of horrors out of the room, "Now we just need to set up the rest," he said.

OOOOOO

Carrow stalked through the corridors sliding from shadow to shadow. The inhabitants of the castle had started to behave rather oddly since the beginning of the month becoming rather preoccupied an aura of barely contained excitement in the air. It was even affecting most of the staff, Severus Snape being a small and lonely oasis of sanity in the general hubbub; yet another reason to cultivate the man's company.

He glared at the swags of holly and ivy complete with large red ribbon bows that decorated the main staircases running up every available banister and creeping across the top of every picture frame. The Great Hall had also been decorated with large ostentatiously adorned trees in each corner. They even harboured living fairies though he noted with some satisfaction that the degenerate creatures all dived for the safety of the wall side of the trees when he approached. Even the ceiling hadn't escaped the mad decorator, having been charmed to rain down overly sparkly fake snow.

He did have memories of very similar preparations and decorations occurring in this very castle all those years ago when he was just a naive and innocent slip of a boy. He could even remember getting excited about it in his ignorance of the one true faith of humanity. There was only the God-Emperor. There had only been the God-Emperor.

He stumped out of the hall in disgust, growling to himself, and went off in search of peace and quiet in his rooms.

The fairies refused to come out for hours despite Hagrid's coaxing with a bottle of Snape's best nectar.

OOOOOO

Ron sighed heavily in to his beef hot-pot. Hogwarts just wasn't the same without his best mate. The twins had tried cheering him up with games of pick-up-Quidditch and attempts to involve him in their latest pranks, generally as a test subject.

A sudden hush spread across the Great Hall as the cause of all his current misery stalked in glaring horribly at all the festive decorations, the tree fairies fled to the back of the trees hiding in the shadows. Seriously, the man gave Ron the creeps. He was too large, too loud and too aggressive and his obsession with skulls was so morbid and dark. Not to mention the incident with the giant spider at breakfast, Ron shuddered in poorly concealed horror. He'd had nightmares for days afterwards and even now just thinking about it made him feel sick.

Ron just didn't know what to think; he had absolutely no common ground with Harry-all-grown-up so it was very difficult to start any sort of conversation with him. And there was worse, as he watched Carrow decide he really couldn't cope with dining in the Great Hall without doing severe damage to something Hermione bounced up from her seat and scooted after him.

He still managed to spend time with Hermione when they studied together, but she seemed preoccupied and was even less likely to allow him to copy her homework. The one time he'd tagged along to the library with her to meet Carrow he'd sat bewildered as they discussed things that he barely understood despite their explanations. Seriously, why would anyone care about inter-dimensional runes anyway?

One good thing had come out of all this. Dealing with Snape after trying to have a conversation with Carrow was a doddle.

Heaving another heavy sigh Ron resigned himself to the loss of his friendship. At least he had Dean and Seamus.

OOOOOO

Hermione pattered along the corridor after Carrow trying to keep up with the huge man's long strides as he made his way to the sanctuary of his rooms. He was obviously upset about something, and she was determined to get to the bottom of it.

OOOOOO

Carrow reached for his gun and his cleaning kit. A few hours of observing the rite of maintenance should settle him mentally.

He'd noticed little Miss Granger slip in beside him but paid her no mind. She'd learnt over the last month that it was best to leave him be when he was in one of these moods and let him speak in his own time.

Sitting himself down he quickly lost himself in the familiar and soothing patterns as he cleaned his plasma pistol, murmuring prayers to appease the gun's machine spirit, checking the weapon for signs of wear and tear and anointing it with blessed oils, the only other sound in the room being the occasional rustle of paper as Hermione turned a page in her book.

OOOOOO

Carrow sat back finally satisfied with the condition of his sidearm. Stretching, he looked towards his little shadow, the girl-child who seemed utterly determined to befriend him. She was currently deep in concentration reading a large tome, little visible around it but the cloud of brown frizz she had for hair. He was amused to see the book was an introduction to customising numerological tables, a topic that fascinated them both.

Hermione's contemplation of the role of imaginary dimensions in permanent enchantments was brought to an end by a rumbling sound like a distant avalanche which she was quickly coming to associate with Carrow. Startled she looked up into piercing green eyes.

"You don't like the Christmas decorations very much do you?" she asked concerned about her very large friend, "Didn't people in the future put up decorations for festivals at all?"

Carrow was silent for a moment. Abandoning his robe by the girl he started to pace up and down before experimentally throwing a few punches at an imaginary opponent. He'd always found movement aided his thoughts.

"Most worlds of the Imperium had annual festivals, and many of them were celebrated with lavish decorations and festivities. That isn't the problem." Carrow came to a halt in front of the girl-child, "The problem is," he paused his face scrunching in disgust, "they are not being put up to celebrate an Imperial saint or martyr or to the glory of the God-Emperor, or even to the glory of the Imperium of man," his voice rose as his temper did, flinging his arms in the air he growled "It's heretical! I should...I should cleanse the entire castle!"

He vented his fury in a series of elaborate spinning and jumping kicks down the middle of the room. Hermione watched in awe as Carrow flung himself in to the air completely sure in his movements.

"We don't know any better, you know."

Carrow snarled. "The number of times that I've heard that. Ignorance is not an excuse," he bellowed.

Hermione sighed to herself as the glass of the windows buzzed with the vibrations; she was failing miserably at calming her best friend down and only seemed to be doing the exact opposite.

"Didn't you say the God-Emperor was alive right now?" Hermione tried figuring this was a much safer topic of conversation.

Carrow paused "Yes. Yes, He most definitely is." He started a basic training pattern of kicks and punches, "He lives in hiding among us...working on a large project. I believe...a particle accelerator I think it is."

"Really," Hermione squeaked with excitement, "do you know where?"

Carrow pointed.

Hermione was silent for a moment as she analysed the direction, then her eyes widened an excited grin spreading across her face.

"He must be working at CERN," she was practically bouncing where she was sitting Carrow was amused to see, "Wow," she exclaimed, "I bet I've read about his work."

Seeing Carrow's questioning expression she did her best to explain.

"They're trying to discover the fundamental particles of nature...and look at conditions just after the beginning of the universe."

Carrow was utterly disappointed. "So it's not some sort of giant super-weapon then?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Are you completely sure?"

She nodded.

Disgusted, Carrow went back to his training pattern. Hermione watched him for a while.

"Why don't you write to him?" she blurted out on an impulse.

For the first time, Carrow faltered and stumbled nearly falling flat on his face before regaining control. He whirled round face slack with shock. "_What!?_"

"Why don't you write him a letter?" she shrugged, "it can't do any harm can it?"

Carrow was stunned. The idea of writing to the God-Emperor was just...just...he wasn't quite sure where he would begin.

"I'm sure Hedwig would deliver it for you" Hermione added.

"She survived?" A tiny part of Carrow which had never really stopped being "little Harry" rejoiced at the fact that his first friend and confidante had survived that lonely time in that little room.

Hermione nodded, "Oh yes. I understand it was a bit touch and go at first but Hagrid managed to nurse her back to full health. She's in the school owlery right now."

The wards in the corridor outside jangled, warped then flexed as an outside influence tried to interfere with them. Carrow whirled towards the threat, all his senses tingling. He stalked forward undecided. Was this just an overcurious student (and that had happened before, resulting in an outraged medicae woman threatening to eviscerate him), or was it something more serious, like someone trying to break or alter his security?

He pointed a stern finger at the girl-child; "Stay right here," before grabbing his force-staff and stalking to the door.

Cautiously putting an ear to the door revealed the sound of receding footsteps. Nothing initially felt dangerous to his wych-sight so he slowly cracked the door open and peered round to catch a glimpse of long red hair whisking round a distant corner. The Emperor damned possession then. He had a feeling that the girl-child's limitations were actually holding the unnatural thing back, or it could be the wretched creature was trying to avoid suspicion for as long as possible. Either way it was a small mercy, but he would take them were he could get them.

Carrow turned his attention to the damage to his security. A quick analysis and he started to dismantle what the abomination had tried to do. He was initially disgusted with the pathetic attempt to turn his own security against him, but then he realised what it would have done had it have worked. It was such a wonderful idea he was prepared to ignore where it had come from, and use it himself.

He quickly dismantled the damage and started afresh cackling gleefully to himself. There wasn't a person on Holy Terra who wouldn't appreciate a ten foot wall of fire at 1000C as part of their personal security.

OOOOOO

Snape snapped open the Daily Prophet after having a good sneer at the rubbish on the front page. Who cared about some ridiculous sex scandal involving a Quidditch player and their transfigured Labrador. Though he did feel mildly sorry for the poor dog. It must have been traumatising, being molested by something that stupid.

The contents really weren't much better. Somebody arrested for muggle-baiting; obviously unemployed with far too much time on their hands. A mugging-gone-wrong in Knockturn Alley; well, what did the idiot expect going there? Some obscure Ministerial Departmental Head retiring after 62 years; why didn't they just stuff the man, nobody would notice. Some ridiculous adverts; no, he would not like a tie that would enable him to sing like a bird.

Grave-robbing in Hogsmeade. Snape frowned, an uneasy feeling building in his stomach as he read the article. Some of the older graves had been disturbed and bones removed; an entire skeleton's worth. There wasn't any sign as to who had perpetrated such a foul act; not so much as a footprint had been found. Necromancy was suspected but none of the newer graves had been disturbed. There had even been a funeral the previous day and that grave was completely undisturbed, the floral tributes of family and well-wishers not so much as a petal out of place.

The cold feeling settled in Snape's bones. He knew of one person who would quite happily commit such a crime, and have the skills to get away with it. After-all, didn't the blasted man say he was starting small when they put all those disgusting dead-bird-golem things around the castle?

He slowly turned his head to glare at the large and dangerous mental-case he currently had the misfortune to be seated next to. Currently dressed in his favourite military-formal-designed-by-a-maniac suit Carrow was alternating between a cautious experiment of raspberry jam on toast and glaring at the top of Lockhart's head as the blonde fop wittered on about the proposed launch date for his new line of hair-care products to nobody in particular.

Snape startled and glared across the Great Hall as Hermione Granger picked that moment to do a particularly spirited impression of a demented whistle as she squealed in delight. Maybe the brat had received an outstanding for being a little know-it-all; that might explain it. At least he wasn't going to have to put up with this sort of behaviour for a few weeks. The little brats were going home for Christmas today, to their loving parents, too much food and unmemorable ridiculously over-priced gifts which they would forget in about thirty seconds. And he would get the best gift of all, peace and quiet.

OOOOOO

Hermione bounced with delight as she read the letter she had just received from her parents via owl post. This was just the most wonderful news and would make Christmas absolutely perfect. Bounding out of her seat, the puzzled gazes of the other students following her, she rushed up to the head table to tell Carrow her good news.

OOOOOO

Snape glared annoyed and puzzled as the banshee-in-training raced towards the head table, his end of the head table at that.

Hermione screeched to a halt in front of Carrow quickly collecting herself. She grinned excitedly up at her favourite person. Holding up the letter she quickly got to the point.

"I wrote to my parents and they've agreed," she shuffled her feet nervously, "Basically, would you like to come and stay with my family for a few days after Christmas, from Boxing Day on?" Hermione shifted nervously from foot to foot trying to will the man in front of her to accept with the power of her mind alone.

Snape stared incredulously at the small Gryffindor. The only way the girl's parents had agreed to this was through a great deal of creative lying on her part.

Carrow looked down at the small girl-child. He was, he reluctantly admitted to himself, rather touched and flattered that she would want his company this much and to include him in her family too...how could he refuse? He certainly didn't have to worry about the possessed girl-child. His surveillance system had faithfully recorded the possessed child's movements around the castle relaying them to his recording device but as of today she would be travelling back to the family home along with her older brother Percy. Plus this was a golden opportunity to have an initial exploration of the non-magical world. There really was only one answer to her question.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to refuse Miss Granger's kind but misguided offer. The idea of Carrow let loose on an unsuspecting and innocent muggle family was faintly horrifying. Unfortunately Carrow beat him to it.

Hermione watched in delight as Carrow gave her a small smile.

"I accept your generous offer," he inclined his head to the girl who promptly shrieked in delight and charged round the table to hug as much of him as she possibly could before racing off to finish her packing.

In the stunned silence that followed, Madam Pince piped up. "Wasn't that thoughtful of Miss Granger? Poor Mr Carrow won't be all on his own for Christmas now."

Snape buried his face in his hands. Really, was it him, or were the people around him slowly losing their marbles and their common sense?

OOOOOO

Carrow sat in front of the small desk he'd salvaged from a disused class room staring at the blank piece of parchment he'd placed there. He'd been mulling over the idea of writing to the God-Emperor over the last few days, and the more he thought of it the more it seemed like a good idea. But then he'd hit a major snag. What could he possibly write to the God-Emperor of mankind?

Normally he mostly wrote reports to his superiors within the Inquisition who were ultimately answerable to the High Lords of Terra, and through them, the God-Emperor himself. Then it struck him, since his reports were ultimately for the perusal of the God-Emperor and since he was also rather due to write one given his current situation that would be exactly what he would do.

Smiling to himself he started to write.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who have a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.

I should also say a big thank-you to my very patient Beta Jacobus-minoris who has read and reread my writing, pointed out my grammatical mistakes, questioned the suitability of some of my wilder ideas as well as putting up with my long winded rants about plot ideas.

Chapter 7

Fred and George Weasley looked at one another, their faces solemn and serious. This was going to be a major event in their young lives, life changing even. Their very first post-Carrow prank was about to begin.

They had always played pranks even before their debut at Hogwarts causing much hilarity and consternation among their nearest and dearest. But then, during their first year, back when they were young, naive, innocent, they had discovered the Marauders, pranksters supreme and had done their best to emulate their new heroes, surpass them even.

When Carrow had arrived at Hogwarts he had just seemed like a new target, particularly since they knew he was really ickle Harry returned to them. If only Mum hadn't caught them sneaking out of the house in the summer to rescue Harry, maybe Carrow wouldn't exist. It was a strange and mind bending thought.

So to make Carrow feel more at home they decided to prank him, a really good one too. To their utter amazement he'd managed to spot their set-up easily and completely avoid it; and then he'd pranked them back. A prank of such utter, breathtaking, spine chilling brilliance; they'd screamed, they'd cried, they'd had to change their underpants afterwards, and they still hadn't been able to conclusively prove that he'd done it.

Carrow had completely blown away their ideas of a quality prank, he'd expanded their minds, their very horizons to such a degree that they had had to put in a huge amount of study to get their game up to his standard. At least mum would be happy about their grades come the summer. Carrow had become their new gold standard, a veritable god of pranking. One they were sure was helping them, particularly when The Book mysteriously appeared in Fred's bag with just a torn piece of parchment marking a very interesting page.

And now here they were, on Christmas morning, about to enact their very first post-Carrow prank. They had worked very hard on this and had high hopes that it would be highly memorable. Their creation was in place as was test subject no.1 otherwise known as Ronald Bilius Weasley. What could possibly go wrong? With a flourish of their wands their new prank began.

OOOOOO

Ron Weasley was just rubbing shampoo in to his hair, singing slightly off key to himself and enjoying the hot water of the shower thudding down on to his back, when he heard a skittering sound in the room beyond. He paused and strained his ears. Silence. He went back to rinsing the suds out of his hair.

The sound came again. Ron frowned uneasily, it didn't sound like a person and frankly there were strange things going on in the castle, petrifications and Carrow aside there was all the strange noises, like invisible birds that had managed to get trapped in the castle. It made walking around the place on a dark evening a very creepy experience.

"Who's there?" he called out. The sound came again from even closer. Plucking up his courage Ron peered around the shower curtain straight into his absolute worst nightmare.

OOOOOO

Fred and George watched in utter delight as their little brother ran past their hiding place in to the common room as naked as the day he was born screaming fit to burst his lungs with their creation on his heels, its eight hairy legs working frantically.

They grinned at each other; their creation was holding together rather nicely and working exactly as they had planned.

Their attention was caught by the sound of the portrait hole clicking open. Leaping up from behind one of the sofas they were just in time to see Ron's naked bottom disappear down the corridor, his screams becoming ever fainter and their creation hot on his heels. They looked at one another in horror. It had now officially gone too far. As one they sprinted for the portrait hole.

OOOOOO

Snape was quietly poking at his scrambled eggs enjoying the peace and quiet that a vastly reduced school population produced. All seated around a single table the morning's diners were currently too interested in getting breakfast out of the way to engage in any idle chit-chat.

All was peaceful and quiet, until Carrow sat bolt upright, his head snapping round towards the doors. Snape paused in his torture of the scrambled eggs. Over the past month he'd come to see Carrow as a sort of trouble and chaos barometer. If the large man started paying exacting attention to something then it was probably a good idea to run away and hide.

Snape strained his hearing trying to sense anything unusual over the soft clatter of cutlery from the other diners. Hearing nothing, he cautiously went back to his food, and then just on the edge of hearing he caught it. A howling shrieking sound as if a cat was being tortured; and it was getting closer. Gradually more and more of the people present paused and looked up as the curious sound became increasingly audible.

With a crash the doors of the Great Hall burst open and a screaming naked figure sprinted in closely followed by a ...Snape wasn't quite sure what it was. It looked like a giant spider but it also appeared to have been built out of scavenged pieces of wood and upholstery. It also seemed very keen on getting as close to Ronald Weasley as it physically could.

The Great Hall quickly descended in to chaos as the arachnophobic tried running away, hiding, freezing in shock or a combination. Trelawney was a case in point as she leapt in fright with a gigantic whooping scream, knocking her glasses off, and then proceeding to run full tilt in to a wall knocking herself out cold. Dumbledore and some of the senior staff gave chase to the spider construct, while the others tried to round up the remaining students and usher them out of the hall.

Surrounded by abandoned meals and upturned chairs, only Snape and Carrow remained seated at the breakfast table, an oasis of clam in a tempestuous sea of mayhem. Glaring horribly, Snape jabbed his fork at Carrow, "I don't know how you did it," he hissed angrily, "but I know you had something to do with this."

Carrow merely smirked broadly, as behind him the panicking naked Weasley sprinted past, chased by a cavalcade of giant wooden spider and shouting, bellowing teaching staff.

There was only so much running that Ron was physically capable of before he ran out of steam. As he began to tire, the terrifying creature came ever closer, despite his best efforts to keep away from it. As he finally stumbled in exhaustion the thing finally made physical contact, and froze, crumbling into a pile of fire wood and shredded scraps of upholstery.

A crying, exhausted, and humiliated Ronald Weasley collapsed to the ground suddenly aware of his nudity, and wishing that he'd had the sense to go home like Percy and Ginny had. McGonagall rushed forward and wrapped her cloak around her charge while Madam Pomfrey began to usher the poor boy to the infirmary. Behind them, from the abandoned table, a deep and resonate voice rumbled. "Is this a traditional part of the seasonal festivities?"

OOOOOO

In a respectable area of a dormitory town just north of London was an area of garden-village era Edwardian suburban homes. With their architectural references to art nouveau and the arts and crafts movement, these were desirable and sort after dwellings.

On this bleak and drizzling morning many households were still fast asleep from the festivities of the previous day, but a few were early risers such as the Granger home. They had had the annual cavalcade of family visitors yesterday and were now waiting for the arrival of Hermione's first and best friend, a young man she had described in glowing terms on many occasions.

Dan Granger pottered sleepily around the kitchen tartan dressing gown flapping round his knees as he went through the important morning ritual of the first cup of coffee. He'd been looking forward to seeing what sort of young man Hermione had got so close to and whether he was a suitable companion for his beautiful little girl. If the little brat was too friendly with his frizzy little angel then he was definitely going to have to have stern words and put the fear of "girlfriend's dad" in to him.

Breakfast had been all but over and Hermione had begun bouncing off the walls with worry about her friend. Had he got the address all right? Had he remembered the right day? Had he changed his mind? What if he thought the present she'd got him was heretical?

Considering the present in question was a pile of science and maths text books Dan Granger did think that last one was a trifle odd and had started to worry that they were about to play host to a young member of a fundamentalist religious sect of some description. Hermione's garbled explanation really did not help matters either.

OOOOOO

A soft ding-dong echoed around the front hall just as Dan Granger was strolling across to his study to for a sneaky game of tetris on the old home computer. So this was probably it, Hermione's young boyfriend had finally arrived and from the look of it a parent had accompanied him; Dan took in the way the figure on the other side of the stained glass door panel was blocking out the light. Looking forward to having a good natter with a fellow Hogwarts parent Dan opened the door a welcoming smile on his face.

He found himself almost nose to lower chest with a wall of black leather covered in braid and skull decorated brass buttons. A look down revealed enormous boots with external steel toe caps beautifully engraved with skulls surrounded by florid acanthus leaves. His gaze travelled up, taking in the metal pauldrons which broadened the already wide shoulders of the figure, till further up he made contact with the greenest eyes he'd ever seen in his life as well as the most predatory smile.

"This is the Granger residence?" the giant boomed his voice gravelly and impossibly deep.

Dan nodded mutely, his mind working furiously; the B-movies were right all along, the bondage Nazis from Mars really were trying to invade.

The gigantic apparition smirked down at him and held out one massive appendage, "Ah, good. Allow me to introduce myself; I am Allesandor Carrow."

Dan winced as his own hand was completely enclosed by the massive appendage and firmly shook. So this was Hermione's friend. He was going to have stern words with his little girl about being flexible with the truth.

As he invited the gigantic man in he noticed a police car travelling at a crawl past the end of the drive, the occupants peering intensely towards the house. It looked like it was going to be one of those days.

OOOOOO

It turned out to be one of those weeks. A good measure of this was the level in the bottle of gin that was an annual gift from Great-Aunt Bettie. Normally it would last till next Christmas. In a bad year it might only last till August. This year there was maybe enough left for a single g and t at the beginning of January. Even She-who-must-be-obeyed had indulged a little so it wasn't as if he'd managed to drink the entire bottle on his own; and all because his little angel had invited her first and best friend to stay.

To say they were shocked to be suddenly playing host to a very large, very definitely adult man was a bit of an understatement. The fact that his personality and ego were so large that they could have been divvied up among the population of entire continents with some left over really did not help matters at all.

Mr Carrow on the other hand didn't appear to be troubled or even interested in any reservations that might have been expressed about him, happily inserting himself in to their daily routine in his very large and extremely disruptive way causing the entire household to revolve around him in order to avoid the road block.

Dan had introduced Carrow to the Missus expecting him to be tolerated for a few hours before being asked very politely to leave. Unfortunately this was not to be. Unfathomable female wisdom came in to play and She-who-must-be-obeyed had cautiously welcomed the very large man to their home and then carefully watched the way he and their little angel interacted.

Dan had watched with increasing unease as his wife started to warm up to the very large and very intimidating man. Maybe it was Hermione's enthusiastic hugging of the large man or the way he'd been utterly delighted by Hermione's gift or maybe the fact that he'd obviously gone to considerable trouble to pick out a suitable book for their little angel. She-who-must-be-obeyed had even started to smile at the odd pair as they discussed English politics and the structure of the UK Government though Dan did think it rather odd that Carrow didn't know especially as he was obviously quite knowledgeable about politics in general. It was when his better half started giving the man soppy looks while he assisted with the washing-up that evening, carefully and meticulously drying each plate handed to him that Dan realised that he was doomed. The lady of his life had obviously decided that Allesandor Carrow was "adorable", and would now, as long as Hermione continued to see him as a friend, invite the large man to every single family celebration, get-together and gathering that she possibly could till the end of time. In fact she started that very evening by inviting Carrow to join in the traditional family post-Christmas museum crawl.

Carrow had willingly accepted the invitation and had accompanied them each day in to London as they tried to pack in as many museums and art galleries as possible before the New Year. The man was quiet and well behaved in the Tate and the National Gallery. They had a few difficulties with him in the British Museum where he had been fascinated by the antiquities displays and had been rather reluctant to leave. The Science Museum had been definitely tricky. He'd got rather excited when he'd seen the dinosaur skeletons and it had taken several frustrating explanations about extinctions to burst Carrow's fantasy of big game hunting. The large man had become thoughtful and quiet once he'd finally got the idea. In a way this was even more worrying.

But the real problems had begun in the Imperial War Museum...in the Large Exhibits Gallery to be exact. Carrow wanted to look inside the armoured vehicles. He didn't understand why he couldn't. Security had got involved. In frustration they had dragged him off to the gift shop and bought him several books on the history and development of tanks. The very nice security people had escorted them out of the building.

Dan and She-who-must-be-obeyed had decided to discreetly cross the Royal Armouries off the itinerary.

By the end of the week they were all shattered, exhausted by the man's seemingly inexhaustible supply of energy and increasingly strange questions and behaviour. Dan and the Missus could cope with the five hour exercise routines beginning at three in the morning, but the impression he gave that he was gleefully breaking some sort of religious taboo on scientific knowledge every time he read his Christmas presents or asked how things worked around the house; that really gave them headaches.

Dan stared forlornly at the pathetic dribble in the bottom of the bottle that was all that was left of Great Aunt Bettie's gin. Would his better half notice if he discretely bought a replacement bottle he wondered, or should he just own up to having finished it more or less on his own?

OOOOOO

It was a quiet morning at CERN, Geneva, Switzerland as a certain Professor of Physics was drinking his first cup of coffee of the day. He was vaguely sorting his post in to piles of "urgent", "not so urgent", "loony bin" and "file in the bin" when a plain and bulging envelope slipped with a thud on to his desk from a pile of particularly obnoxious junk mail.

The plain and unadorned envelope appeared to be, anachronistically, made of parchment. Puzzled he turned it over...and there it was; the symbol of an organization that was to inspire hatred, fear and trembling in the strongest of constitutions as its members rooted out the most horrific corruption and contamination in the hearts and minds of the human race...some thirty eight thousand years in to the future.

He stared thoughtfully at the red wax seal embossed with the "I" and skull of the Imperial Inquisition. Something had obviously gone very wrong, or maybe that should be...strange.

OOOOOO

Carrow sighed and stretched his stiff limbs; space marines were not meant to sit still for long periods of time. Now he was back in the castle after visiting Miss Granger and her family he had gone back to his first project, compiling a list of unexplained deaths and disappearances from back issues of the Daily Prophet, which he had being doing since his arrival in this back-water of time and culture, and a distinct pattern was beginning to emerge.

He'd managed to get back to the 30's now and what he had discovered was rather illuminating.

Things towards the end of this particular decade were rather muddled due to the occurrence of a much larger conflict spanning both magical and non-magical worlds.

After this conflict had died down the deaths and disappearances had dropped to a low base later similar to before the war, i.e. hardly any. As the 50's and 60's had progressed they had gradually increased, reaching a peak in the 70's when the insurgent leader Lord Voldemort and his personal cult had revealed themselves. The 70's were a time of chaos for the British Wizarding World as it slowly descended in to anarchy as revealed by the newspapers, its law-enforcers and government completely unable to cope with the mayhem.

It had all come to an abrupt halt on the 31st October 1981 when he had apparently "vanquished" the cult leader. Personally Carrow didn't believe it; how could a vulnerable and virtually helpless 15 month old child do anything remotely dangerous to an adult wizard?

The unexplained deaths and disappearances had dropped radically after this event but they had never reached that very low base level seen in the early 30's and 50's. This could mean only one thing. The cult was still out there, biding its time, like some sort of malignant tumour on society.

Carrow had already started to compile a list of individuals suspected of being "Death Eaters". He sneered at the ridiculous name. Many of these people had escaped what passed for justice in the Wizarding World claiming they had been placed under the "Imperius" curse. Carrow had not been impressed. Instead of admitting to being murderers they were claiming to be weak-willed instead. He'd have executed them all, and their immediate families, and their friends, and probably their pets too. It was imperative that the rot was excised completely; you could never be too careful.

The Wizarding Justice system (or what passed for it) had let these people off with barely a rap on the knuckles. When the leader of the cult came back, and it was a when, the man would have his support base intact and that wouldn't do at all.

At the top of his list was Lucius Malfoy, a suspected Death Eater who had pleaded the Imperious curse, (Carrow suspected bribery), and a potential political rival and road block with large resources. The man had funded Fudge's last election campaign, and seemed to be very close to the Minister. The sooner he was able to send Malfoy on a one-way journey to the God-Emperor's mercy, the better for his plans.

But first he needed to build his own resources, though he did have a first possible acolyte. Young Miss Granger had real potential.

His musings were broken by the sound of an invisible bell ringing throughout the castle. Heaving himself up, grumbling, he set off to make his obligatory once-a-day appearance at a meal. The irritating medicae woman had hounded him about his small appetite. Nothing he said could persuade her that it was completely normal for a member of the Adeptus Astartes. She seemed to be convinced that he should eat like Hagrid, five hearty meals a day with seconds. They had, in the end, come to a compromise, she would leave him alone as long as he ate at least one meal a day and in return he wouldn't throw the irritating woman through a window.

As he walked along keeping a careful eye open for any potential traps courtesy of the possessed girl-child he became increasingly aware of an unpleasant odour. Following his nose led him to the main stair cases, one of his least favourite areas of the castle. He found their tendency to move unaided and apparently at random highly distressing particularly when he was on one.

But this time they were helpful. The large open space of the stair well gave him a clear and undivided view of the main entrance and even the doors to the Great Hall, where even now the school population were enjoying their dinner. The doors were slightly ajar allowing the scent of food and the distant chatter of the students to drift out.

A low animal grunt came from near the doors as something large and bestial moved, shuffling and dragging against the tiles; an intruder to the school, and one that sounded like a large predator as well. A manic smile spread across his face. It's been ages since he'd last had a decent fight; maybe this would be an interesting challenge.

Abandoning his potentially obstructive robe and clad only in a black leather body-glove he leapt to the next stairs down landing silently with cat-like grace. He still wasn't close enough for a good view of the creature, so again he launched himself into the void.

On the staircase that crossed directly across the top of the entrance hall he finally got a clear view as the creature finally shuffled in to the cone of light shed from the Great Hall; a mountain troll, and from the looks of it, an adult male and fully grown at nearly nine feet in height. Carrow couldn't believe his luck. It was just like an orc, except less lucky.

His head whipped round as a soft hissing chuckle came from his left. Red gleaming eyes marked the presence of the possession; its teeth glittered in its manic smile as it leered at Carrow. So, admiring its handiwork was it. He barred his teeth, snarling his defiance. This thing, this unnatural abomination would not get the better of him. The eyes winked out as it backed in to the shadows.

At that precise moment the troll finally came to a decision and lumbered more fully in to the light from the Great Hall. Carrow made a split second decision. Not wanting to see what an adult mountain troll would do in a room full of children, he launched himself over the railing. Landing with a soft thud behind the creature, and, drawing his boot knife he roared his defiance.

He was gleeful. It was a full-grown male, and it was all his!

The troll lumbered round as fast as it could to challenge this new threat, grunting its own challenge in response, brandishing its club, a torn-off tree limb as threateningly as it could.

Carrow barred his teeth snarling and lunged under the creature's clumsy swing slashing it down the side, rolling past and coming up behind it. The troll howled in pain as the edge of the monomolecular blade sliced through its tough hide as if through paper. It lumbered round clumsily, as its tiny brain processed the fact that it was being attacked by a very dangerous predator, howling and grunting with anger and pain, and just at the edge of its slow thoughts a touch of fear, frantically thrashing around with its club. Carrow slinked aside or dodged under the wild blows before darting in again and stabbing the maddened creature in the ribs. The troll's howl of anguish and pain was breathtaking. Carrow joined in bellowing his joy and triumph of the combat. The troll utterly crazed with pain and fear tried to charge its attacker, lumbering forward and slashing its club down, Carrow only just getting out of the way in time. The troll tried to close the distance again, and, Carrow seeing another opening leaped forward and slashed the creature across the torso.

The troll was beginning to slow down now, its breath wet and ragged, blood flowing freely down its torso. Its eyes blinked and it staggered as it tried to concentrate on the aggressor who was taking it apart piece by piece.

Moaning low and wounded in its throat, it lunged one last time. Carrow dogged the slow attempt, leaping on to its back, much as he had done as an eleven year old, and slit the dying creature's throat from ear to ear right down to the bone in a single slashing blow.

He leapt clear rolling up in to a crouch as the troll's body slowly keeled over with a thunderous crash, blood and ichor rapidly pooling around it.

Carrow's sense of his wider surroundings rapidly returned, revealing a row of sickened, horrified faces as the teaching staff stared at him in shock. Spying Dumbledore, he tilted his head; there was a niggling little question he just had to ask.

Dumbledore stared in wordless horror at the atrocity Carrow had just perpetrated and suddenly realised he was completely alone with the man.

Carrow had quietly stalked up to him, breathing heavily, a strange smile on his face, pupils mere pinpricks even in the dim light of the entrance hall. Stinking of troll and his own unique and pungent body odour, Carrow bent down until they were almost nose to nose.

"Do they...come in packs?" he asked his smile almost wistful.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who have a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.

I should also say a big thank-you to my very patient Beta Jacobus-minoris who has read and reread my writing, pointed out my grammatical mistakes, questioned the suitability of some of my wilder ideas as well as putting up with my long winded rants about plot ideas.

I was a day late with this for a specific reason. I've been working on a piece of fan-art, more a portrait of Inquisitor Carrow, which is now posted on my blog. Link is in my account. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it :-D

Chapter 8

Allesandor Carrow carefully studied his reflection in the mirror; he was going to be sitting in on his first Wizengamot session today and though he wouldn't be an active participant he wanted to make a good impression. In fact it was vital he did so to enable him to ease his way in to the political life of this tiny community.

He had fallen back on his years of tried and trusted methods of impressing the average political creature, running through his check list of must-haves.

Weapons hidden and displayed present. Check. His side arm and sword were both within easy reach, his collection of knives and other assorted tricks also hidden about his person. His force-staff he was planning to carry. These "wizards" were obsessed with their wands and it was the closest he'd got. Of course, his was larger.

Clothing, military but understated. Check. This particular suit had gold braid instead of the every-day black he preferred but he needed to make a good impression, and of course he had subtly mixed in pieces from a suit of light armour that he'd had commissioned. He particularly liked the gorget.

Charnel Guard Chapter colours prominent displayed. Check. He wouldn't dream of wearing anything else. His suit was prominently black with the gold represented by the braid and the gold brocade sash and the bone white by the prayer handkerchief he planned to wear as an armband.

Symbols of the Imperial Faith prominently displayed. Check. And they were; his prayer book was safely in its custom pouch attached to his belt while his prayer beads, delicately carved from human finger bones each one allegedly from a Hero of the Imperium, hung from his sash where he had tucked it.

Now the next question was should he be relatively informal and wear his leather storm coat or should he go all the way and wear the cloak with the gold-work edging.

OOOOOO

Dumbledore paced nervously in the entrance hall waiting for Carrow to make his appearance, his Wizengamot robes swishing around his ankles. Carrow had managed to persuade him that he should be allowed to attend some of the sessions at the Wizengamot, this one being the very first session of the New Year. He'd hoped that Carrow had caught the massive hints he'd been dropping that the huge suit of armour, though very nice he was sure, was not suitable attire for attending the Wizengamot. It wasn't clear whether the man had taken the hint; he'd been known to ignore things before if they'd inconvenienced him in some way.

The silence and faint whimpers of nearby students indicated Inquisitor Carrow's arrival and Dumbledore's gaze snapped up to watch in faint horror as Carrow swept down the main staircase towards him an arrogant smirk of supreme self-confidence plastered on his cruel face.

Dumbledore blinked in disbelief at the man's attire. Somehow the power amour didn't seem so bad, especially if the awful man kept the helmet on. Instead Carrow had managed to encapsulate everything anybody could ever want to know about the Imperium of Man that he had become such a part of. He practically exuded it, huge, bureaucratic, corrupt, decadent, cruel, militaristic, tyrannical, violent and, above all else, old.

OOOOOO

Old Frankie Siddel was quietly sitting at the front desk at the Ministry of Magic weighing the wands of visiting gentle wizards and witches and issuing the passes much as he had done for the last fifty years. Nothing much impressed him, he'd seen ministers come and go; he'd met the latest one when he was just a scrawny spotty hopeful fresh out of Hogwarts. As for the likes of Lucius Malfoy, strutting around as if he owned the place, well he'd known the boy's father, heck he'd met his grandfather. He'd even seen Dark Lords come and go.

So on this particular morning he was quite contentedly checking the wands of the visitor for the days' Wizengamot session. From the gossip and chatter he understood that a very special one-time bill to declare the boy-who-lived of age was on the rota today. Sounded like a load of codswollop to him. He'd be what? Twelve? Utterly ridiculous.

Now there was something he'd never seen before. Dumbledore stomping along, scowling fit to scorch wood and incinerate paper, and he was normally such a cheerful fellow.

Frankie's attention was caught by the moving wall of black and gold that was closing following one of Hogwart's most popular Headmaster. He blinked in disbelief; that was definitely something you didn't see every day. His mind caught up with what he was seeing. Barring Rubeus Hagrid this had to be the largest man he'd ever seen in his life, moving with cat-like grace towards him, eyes constantly scanning the activity of the lobby, dressed like some military nightmare from some ghastly conflict.

As Dumbledore drew up to Frankie's desk he could see just how worn and tired the older man looked. The glare he threw over his shoulder at the walking cliff said it all really.

"Good morning Headmaster Dumbledore," Frankie tried his best cheery smile. Dumbledore's smile almost resembled a grimace.

Frankie watched in bemusement as Dumbledore explained the Ministry's security measures and wand identification procedure to the very large man who had been introduced to him as Allesandor Carrow. It was amazing how like poor James Potter he looked. He could almost be his long lost half-giant half-brother. Trying to keep to the comforting and familiar Frankie fell back in to his normal routine.

"Wand please," he peered up at the gigantic man over the rims of his horn-rimmed glasses.

Dumbledore breathed a huge sigh as if desperately trying to keep his calm and raised an eyebrow at the larger man. "Well?" he snapped in a rather creditable imitation of Severus Snape.

Carrow reached over one shoulder, unholstering his force staff and placing it with a thunk on the desk which creaked ominously under the weight of the thing. Six foot in length, the shaft a thick rod of dull grey metal inscribed with spirals of runes. It was topped with a skull almost life-size surrounded by a viciously spiked halo while the butt-end was finished with a simple spike.

Frankie looked up, wide-eyes in shock, to meet piercing green eyes that seemed to lack an important aspect of humanity.

OOOOOO

The atmosphere within the Wizengamot chamber was strangely tense; the air so charged Lucius Malfoy could practically taste it. Delicately flicking a small piece of lint off an impeccably tailored sleeve, Lucius considered the behaviour of his so-called peers with a delicately arched brow. The normally sedate and semi-conscious residents of the Wizengamot were nervously whispering to their neighbours, shifting uneasily in their seats and shooting wary glances up at the public gallery. This was the most lively and distracted he'd ever seen the rather elderly population of this hallowed hall. Never one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, he'd already used this as a golden opportunity to sneak some little get-out-of-jail-free clauses in to the new "The Import of Dangerous Enchanted Objects" bill. Even Dumbledore, his nemesis, hadn't spotted them.

His gaze turned to the public gallery and the cause of all this inattention and distraction. Lounging comfortably like some sort of despotic king surveying the entertainments that his sycophants and hangers-on provided as they vied for his attention, Carrow had made himself comfortable at the front of the gallery. Around him was a swathe of empty seats as the journalists, photographers and other nosy types did their best to give him a wide berth, even Rita Sketter the epitome of intrusive journalism was keeping her distance.

Carrow was quiet clearly amused by what he was witnessing, a lazy smirk playing about his lips, fingers idly tapping his large and brutal staff.

And this was the being that Fudge and Dumbledore were so keen on letting loose on the world. On the other hand his son was currently trapped in a building with the appalling man. The last letter Draco had sent home had gone to quite disturbing detail about Carrow slaughtering a mountain troll outside the Great Hall during dinner. The poor child was still having nightmares about the sounds of the troll dying as Carrow took it apart piece by piece. Did he really want his son and heir, the apple of his eye, having prolonged contact with such a dangerous, murderous piece of work? It was why he'd decided to sit on the fence when it came to Carrow's special bill. As far as he was concerned no matter whether he voted for or against it was still a bad option. He knew a predator when he saw one and Carrow was by far the most dangerous man (including the Dark Lord) that he'd ever had the misfortune to clap eyes on.

OOOOOO

Carrow surveyed the Wizengamot chamber with mild disappointment; really the place was so...provincial. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. Scanning the sea of Members of the House had revealed a number of faces familiar from his research into the last Wizarding War; Nott, Bulstrode, Parkinson...Malfoy. The almost white-blonde hair was so distinctive it was impossible to be mistaken. The man held himself with confidence, arrogant and aloof from his fellow members. And the skilful and underhand way in which he deflected the others from paying too much attention to his little amendments to the "Import of Dangerous Enchanted Objects" bill was quite masterful. The man was blatantly a skilled politician.

OOOOOO

Lucius Malfoy narrowed his grey eyes thoughtfully at the large man, far too large to be a normal human. Maybe there was some giant blood there. If so the Potters had done an incredible job covering up their half-breed blood to avoid the resulting scandal and social exclusion that would have resulted. The measures they must have taken had to be extreme as neither Charlus nor James Potter had ever shown any signs of being anything other than completely normal Wizards. There was a potential for a massive scandal here. He smirked to himself. If the big man caused trouble a few well placed bribes and a tip-off to the right people would soon neuter him.

OOOOOO

Carrow examined the blonde man carefully; impeccably tailored robes, manicured hands, flawless skin and silky, well-groomed hair. The man was obviously vain and spent a great deal of time either thinking about his appearance or attending to it. In Carrow's experience this could only mean one thing; the man was more bent than a whippy tree in a 100 klom per hour gale. As far as he could tell Wizarding society was reasonably accepting of such things, as long as the participants were discreet and did their duty to their family by producing an heir. But if it became common knowledge, that would cause quite the scandal, and the humiliation to the poor Lady Malfoy and the Malfoy heir. Carrow wondered where the man's tastes ran. Did he like them older? Or did he have a young catamite, a pretty little thing tacked away in a luxurious residence somewhere, probably lavished with gifts but otherwise abused? Maybe Malfoy had been a catamite himself at one point. Carrow grinned to himself, teeth glittering in the light of the hall's illumination. All he needed to do was a little digging. The resulting scandal would destroy Malfoy.

OOOOOO

On the other hand the man was obviously highly dangerous. Even from this distance Lucius could see the scars littering Carrow's face. He was obviously a man of action used to settling his disputes with violence. Lucius curled his lip in derision at the overgrown thug. _How uncouth_ Lucius thought.

So if Lucius took any action against him he would likely track it back to its origin and then exact bloody revenge of the long, slow, and painful death kind. The likelihood of him managing it was high; all reports suggested a very intelligent and resourceful individual.

It would probably be much safer in the long run to dispose of Mr Carrow as quickly as possible.

OOOOOO

Mr Malfoy had had over a decade to dig himself in to the Ministry. The contacts and allies that he'd most likely gained in that time were likely to be formidable indeed. The man was likely to be able to trace any revelations of his private life back to the source and cause a great deal of irritation and inconvenience. _A little challenge then_ Carrow mused thoughtfully, thought he really didn't want to have any annoying road blocks in his way while he got himself established. The easiest thing to do would be to dispose of Lucius Malfoy as quickly as possible.

OOOOOO

Lucius frowned in annoyance as Elphius Dodge droned on about the importance of a minimum thickness for cauldron bottoms and the importance of standardisation. Most of the hall had finally got over the excitement of Carrow's presence and had fallen into a light doze under the soporific influences of Dodge's squeaky voice. Even Carrow looked irritated Lucius saw looking up at the public gallery. Actually on second thoughts, the man looked positively murderous.

_But what would kill such a being?_ Lucius mussed. The man had obviously survived multiple attempts on his life, over a long period of time. His initial thought was to hire Greyback to tackle this one, but if Carrow could take on a mountain troll with little more than a large knife...so assassination was out. He had a feeling that Carrow would spot any "accident" that he could set up, so that left...poison. Lucius tapped his lips thoughtfully with one carefully manicured finger. Maybe a little chat with dear Severus was in order.

OOOOOO

Carrow growled to himself as an irritating little man droned on and on about standardising cauldron thickness. Even in these dark and primal times the Administratum appeared to be alive and well. Ignoring the winces and stares of the surrounding nosy-parkers and other irritants he settled for glaring at the scrawny man with the squeaky voice rather than leaping over the balcony edge and breaking his neck.

Lucius Malfoy was staring at him again, he saw, sneering at the icy blonde. How to dispose of the man? He knew exactly what he would like to do, crush his skull with his bare hands, or maybe a nice simple head shot. But of course, that would lead the local law enforcers directly back to him and even with the power of the bribe, people would still be wary of dealing with him after that. He really wanted his reputation to stay as spotless for as long as he could manage.

So that ruled out out-right murder and assassination, and he didn't currently have the resources to set up an "accident" for the man. Any kind of psychic attack was out as well as it would easily be traced back to him as his warp-craft was completely unique in this small community. So that left what? Well there was always poison. Carrow hummed happily to himself. He had a few vials of a completely untraceable toxin that simulated the effects of a catastrophic stroke. Even if it didn't kill Malfoy it would definitely incapacitate him permanently. All he needed to do was shake the man's hand and the applicator concealed in one of his rings would do the rest.

OOOOOO

The hall of the Wizengamot filled with a quiet roar now that the session had closed. Though some quickly left, many stayed greeting friends and allies swapping gossip and trading information. Carrow waded through the groups of people that were now slowly making their way out as he made a beeline for Dumbledore. Standing near the Royal Throne Dumbledore was deep in conversation with both Fudge and a stern looking lady with a monocle, while Lucius Malfoy lingered nearby, occasionally offering his views.

Lucius turned at the sound of rustling leather and nearly gasped. From the sounds behind him, Fudge and Bones hadn't been as successful. It was one thing seeing Carrow seated in the public gallery but a very different experience standing right next to him. The man was ridiculously large in every way, and far too interested in him, vividly green eyes staring unblinkingly down at him.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and Carrow's intense gaze snapped round. Lucius realised as the introductions began that he'd actually broken in to a cold sweat. He could actually feel a single drop making its way down his spine as Dumbledore introduce Carrow to a very suspicious Amelia Bones. And then it was his turn as his hand was engulfed by Carrow's enormous appendage, warm and calloused, and overwhelmingly powerful, he realised that the sooner he removed this man from the realm of the living the better and if he failed Carrow would be after him with lethal intent.

Carrow looked down at Lucius Malfoy as they shook hands. Here was somebody who could be a very difficult irritant if he tried. The sooner he prepped his poison applicator the better. From what he'd seen it would throw a significant part of the Magical government in to disarray and then he'd be able to move in and pick up the pieces. Carrow smiled.

OOOOOO

That evening in the Great Hall dinner was a quiet affair, the students chattering cheerfully among themselves while the atmosphere at the high table was contemplative. The headmaster was deep in thought worrying about Carrow and Malfoy and what could possibly result from two such dangerous individuals interacting. There was bound to be murder and mayhem in the near future, but what if they decided to shelve any perceived differences and work together? Dumbledore shuddered and pushed that particular thought in to the dark and shadowy recesses of his mind. Oblivious to the concerned glances of Minerva and Pomona he continued to poke morosely at his steak. Further along the table, sandwiched between an oblivious Lockhart who was nattering to nobody in particular and a rather wary Snape, sat Carrow feeling rather pleased with himself. The day had gone rather well after all. He'd managed to get an initial taste of the inner workings of the Ministry of Magic as well as making first contact with a few of the people on his "to do" list. All round, a productive day.

A murmer of excited whispering and the sound of beating wings caused him to look up to the sight of a smug looking Hedwig heading his way, a letter tied to her leg. Settling in front of him with a flurry of wings she smugly held out her leg so he could retrieve the correspondence. Puzzled he began to untie it but the psychic signature of the sender was so strong he actually jerked away as if burnt. The God-Emperor had actually sent a reply to his report with his owl. Carrow was loathe to admit it but his fingers actually trembled slightly as he retrieved his post, gently pried open the envelope and slipped the contents out. The writing inside the card sizzled on the page it was so loaded with the essence of the author. Swallowing reflexively Carrow carefully placed it back in the envelope and then safely in a pocket for later contemplation.

Seeing Hedwig helping herself to his goblet of water he thought of the journey she must have undertaken. She must be rewarded for her efforts. Calling for a house-elf he requested a large and healthy live mouse. The obedient creature eagerly complied, quickly disappearing and reappearing with the required rodent. Delicately taking it between forefinger and thumb he displayed the struggling little mammal to Hedwig. The Snowy owl was perching on his arm, head bobbing, shifting from foot to foot in her excitement. Smiling indulgently Carrow gently tossed the mouse on to the floor. Hedwig quickly swooped down on to the unfortunate creature quickly snapping its neck, pinning the body down with her powerful talons before tearing at its stomach, disembowelling it with her razor sharp beak. Satisfied that his familiar was sating her hunger he turned back to the table...and to a hysterical Lockhart who was crouching on his chair, robes bunched around his knees screaming and gibbering about the mouse, Snape's poorly hidden snorts of laughter and the disgusted glares of most of the rest of the staff.

"Are you incapable of doing anything normal?" snapped a very irate McGonagall.

OOOOOO

In the Sanctuary of his little chapel Carrow reverently pulled the card from its envelope basking in the familiar and reassuring psychic signature, reading the message over and over again...and then he looked at the front...the back bore the legend "The Adoration of the Magi by Peter Paul Rubens (1626/7)". He stared at the front again, heretical image...sacred contents...heretical image...sacred contents...heretical image...

The quiet night was rent by howls of frustrated rage.

OOOOOO

The day had dawned damp and grey, the sun never seeming to manage to penetrate the thick cloud. In the dreary light the ramshackle and down-at-heel buildings of Knockturn Alley glistened with damp, the narrow and muddy road glittering with puddles. The few intrepid individuals who braved the persistent mizzle swathed themselves in cloaks, hoods firmly up, while others kept to the meagre shelter of doorways, porches and overhangs. Through this strode a large figure, uncaring for the weather, confident that he was, by far, the most dangerous being around.

Inquisitor Allesandor Carrow was on the hunt for a final component for his security golem. A focusing crystal, something he'd been assured by Snape he would only be able to find in the Knockturn area. So far it had been a very frustrating search. He'd been able to find inferior quality crystals of the right size or perfect crystals that were too small and was beginning to think that he may have to change his plan and go for an array of the smaller crystals. Seven working together would probably produce a result similar to a single larger one enabling his golem to breathe a potent beam of warp-fyre at any aggressors.

On the very first golem he'd made he'd used a runic seal to produce the same effects but it wasn't very powerful. The resulting creature could only fire a beam six feet long and it wasn't even hot enough to melt metal. He'd been very pleased that it had worked, that his reasoning and techniques had proved accurate but the resulting golem had been more of a toy than anything else. Who knew that making things could be so satisfying? Now he knew why tech-marines were always so passionate about their work.

The greasy little low-lives who had been tailing him for the last hour finally decided to make their move. Coming out of the shadows wands and various knives held threateningly they surrounded him in the narrow road. Nearby bystanders melted in to the shadows not wanting to be part of the violence that was about occur as the local toughs took apart an unwary stranger.

Carrow grinned, he'd been having a frustrating day and here was some light entertainment served to him on a plate, and if he was careful and let them strike the first blow he could quite rightly claim self-defence.

The leader of the gang, scar faced, teeth rotten in receding gums and with the blood-shot unfocused eyes of a habitual drug user leered at him.

"Ya wanderin' on our territory," he lisped through missing teeth, "tha' requires payment like, blood or galleons."

Carrow smirked; this was definitely going to be fun.

"Looks like we got a thick one 'ere," the leader jeered. His compatriots sniggered and laughed sycophantically.

"But then what would you expec' from a filthy 'alf-breed," the lead thug sneered his lips twisting in an ugly fashion.

Carrow bristled in out-rage, filthy half-breed? He was Adeptus Astartes, a Space Marine and proud of it.

"I'll take the blood," he snarled smashing his fist in to the leader's head. The man's skull crumbled like wet paper with a sickening crunch. The thug standing next to him a scrawny man with limp, stringy blonde hair only had time to gape in horror before Carrow backhanded him, snapping his neck, the force of the blow propelling the dead man through a filthy shop window.

Carrow whirled round ready to deal pain and death to those who'd blocked the alley behind him only to find an empty alley and the sound of rapidly receding footsteps sloshing through the mud.

_Pathetic_, Carrow sneered to himself, so much for letting them cast the first blow. Maybe he would go for the multi-stone array after all; it would certainly reduce his need to cull any more idiots.

OOOOOO

Carrow stalked down the winding little jitty, a short-cut he spotted earlier that led back to the main street of Diagon Alley. Carefully scanning the shadows and the roof-lines of the buildings on either side he picked his way between piles of abandoned rubbish, carefully stepping over muddy puddles. His purchase of seven matching emeralds was carefully tucked away in a pocket. Working together they should magnify and concentrate the beam from the runic seal. He still wasn't happy with their small size and had had quite the argument with the shop keeper over the scale of amplification that they would produce. The hysterical creature didn't seem to understand his need for security.

A blur of movement rushed out from behind a particularly disgusting pile of rags and attempted to attach itself to his person. A quick slap sent it crashing in to a wall splintering the brickwork before it slumped to the ground in a crumpled heap. The creature pulled itself upright, apparently none the worse for wear. Carrow had an impression of blazing red eyes, sharp teeth and roughly cut hair, before the smaller being launched itself at him again and clamped itself in his left arm biting repeatedly and failing miserably to break the toughened skin.

It was a scrawny female, clothed in filthy rags, her skin a fake tan due to the layer of dirt with which she was covered. The red eyes, elongated canines and the speed and physical endurance that she had displayed so far had left no doubt in his mind that this was a vampire; one that was blatantly failing at looking after itself. He plucked the pathetic form off his arm; she barely weighed a thing she was so starved. All he could see in her eyes was a desperate and overwhelming hunger. He had been under the impression that vampires were extremely self-sufficient. Curiosity piqued he came to a decision.

Plonking her down he pointed to the ground, "Stay right here," he commanded before striding off to the entrance of the jitty. True to form a local lingered there, a pickpocket, a delicate brush of his mind revealed. Not somebody who was going to be missed. A gentle tap to the head soon rendered him unconscious.

He dumped the comatose lout in front of the starving vampire. She was obviously excited but having difficulties. Drawing his knife he gently cut through the ruffian's right jugular releasing a shower of bright arterial blood. The little vampire finally leaped forward and latched on to the dying man's neck guzzling down his very life essence.

Now what was he going to do with her? Could she be useful in some way? She had already proven herself to be physically very durable; he hadn't exactly pulled his punch. Could she be trained to use weapons? He was desperate for some sort of training partner and this could be a constructive little project now that his security golem was virtually finished.

OOOOOO

The Knight Bus set them off on Hogsmede and quickly vanished with a bang. He'd bundled the vampire in the cloak and robe he'd pulled of the "snack", (a quick fire-ball and effectively destroyed any signs of the man's corpse), and now he cradled the sleepy creature in his arms as he made his way towards the castle. The next problem was going to be getting the little Miss in to the castle. He had a feeling the wards weren't really going to be much of a bother, after all just last year (to the castle) a possessed man with the shade of Lord Voldermort had been freely walking around, and now this year there was a child who was being influenced by something far worse. One small and half-starved vampire should pass unnoticed, and if discovered her condition would play to his favour. He could quite rightly say he was looking after her.

Striding along empty corridors, paintings emptying rapidly of their occupants in front of him like a panic stricken bow-wave, he quickly made his way to his rooms carrying his sleeping burden through his wards.

Once inside the old fencing hall he placed her on the floor startling her awake. The small creature looked around wide-eyed and wary taking in the large space, with its weapons racks, niches, enormous windows, the dust sheet shrouded golem in one corner, and on the far wall the massive inspirational mural he'd only recently completed of the God-Emperor casting down a demon with extreme prejudice. She looked up at him, red eyes wide.

"Welcome to your new home," he smiled down at her.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who have a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.

I should also say a big thank-you to my very patient Beta Jacobus-minoris who has read and reread my writing, pointed out my grammatical mistakes, questioned the suitability of some of my wilder ideas as well as putting up with my long winded rants about plot ideas.

Author's Note

This is rather delayed due to my computer coming down very poorly with a nasty Ransomeware Trojan. It took me several days of research to figure out how to get rid of the wretched thing. Thank goodness for all the wonderful tech-savvy people who inhabit the internet. My computer is now up and running thanks to you guys :-D

Chapter 9

Exasperated, Snape read yet another of Lucius Malfoy's missives, demanding to know why Carrow wasn't dead yet. It didn't matter how many times he told the man the common toxins didn't work on Carrow, Lucius just refused to believe it. When Lucius had come to him with his little request, Snape had been reluctant at first, until Carrow had quietly taken him to one side and agreed to go along with it. Never one to back down from a challenge, Snape had started with old favourites like Belladonna and Tincture of Monkshood. Carrow hadn't noticed them at all. Snape had then moved on to Arsenic and Cyanide. Carrow had admonished him for his lack of imagination; as well as being completely unaffected. Snape had then started to slowly and carefully work his way through his list of more exotic poisons, until he'd got to such horrors as Mordred's Breath, which was supposed to kill a man dead in a matter seconds as every muscle in his body, internal and external, liquidized. Carrow had had a poorly tummy for approximately ten seconds. Snape had given up after that, as it was getting rather expensive. If Lucius wanted Carrow poisoned then he could damn well pay for the powdered Manticore claws himself.

Tossing the irritating letter down he opened the morning's Daily Prophet with a snap causing one of the more delicate Ravenclaw first years to jump spilling his goblet of pumpkin juice down his front. Hiding his smirk, Snape indulged in his favourite morning past-time of sneering at the single figure IQ of the average journalist.

The front page was the normal drivel; "Rain of Haddock in Newbury-on-the-Stink" and of course the ongoing saga of the sexually traumatised Labrador, poor creature; stories that to any intelligent person would suggest a slow news day. Except that when he turned to page five there was a small article, "Unexplained Deaths in Knockturn Area, Is This Evidence of a Cereal Killer?" Ah yes, that terrible dealer of death to innocent and unsuspecting breakfast comestibles. As he read the meagre article, barely two inches in length, Snape's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Over a dozen dead so far, he read, all bodies severely burnt, in some cases only a pile of ash being found, all identified victims from the Knockturn underclass, Aurors hard on the case of this despicable killer. Snape snorted with laughter; as if he believed that. But on the other hand, Carrow had seemed rather preoccupied over the past month and half. He'd barely caused any trouble at all, nothing that anybody knew about that was. And talking about the giant menace to civilisation, where was he? Snape glared thoughtfully at the large and very empty chair separating him from the cheerfully babbling Lockhart. In the end there was no point in worrying about it really, he thought going back to his paper.

He was just getting back into the paper, snarling to himself about some idiot who had tried to illegally import Nundu parts, in his underwear, next to his bare skin. He was now in St Mungo's.

"Where is he?"snarled a furious Dumbledore as he stormed in to the Great Hall. Snape startled, peering at the man over the top of his paper. He stared wide-eyed, eyebrows virtually disappearing in to his hair line. Dumbledore looked as if he'd been in a running battle, robes scorched and torn, sooty marks on his face, definitely a foot of his beard missing and possibly his eyebrows too, and a liberal smattering of cuts, bruises, small burns and the odd abrasion.

"What happened?" Snape asked bewildered, before mentally kicking himself at the obviousness of the answer.

"That bloody man!" roared Dumbledore waving his arms wildly while Pomfrey fussed around him, healing the worst of the damage.

"Albus, language!" McGonagall scolded. Dumbledore deflated slightly under her fierce glare, students tittering nervously in the background. He tried again.

"Carrow has made "improvements" to his personal wards" he said through gritted teeth, "I've just found out the hard way. I'm lucky to be alive."

"What has he done now?" Flitwick asked in horrified fascination, not sure he really wanted to know.

"He's made a...thing which breathes fire...in a way...I think you need to see it to really understand," Dumbledore considered carefully, "I think I can quite cheerfully say that it has been one of the most terrifying things I have ever seen," he scowled again, "though the six foot wall of super-heated fire didn't help either."

Coming closer Snape could clearly see that the headmaster was actually trembling. What had Carrow managed to make that would cause somebody like Albus Dumbledore to flee for their life? He had a nasty little feeling that he was about to find out.

OOOOOO

As cautiously as they could, creeping from shadow to shadow, they approached the corridor that led to what had become Carrow's domain. The signs of violence had become more apparent as they approached. Snape stared dubiously at the deep gouges in the stone flagstones, their edges curiously smoothed as if they had met intense heat. Flitwick and Snape shared dubious looks when they passed the massive hole in the wall where some powerful force had punched through the very fabric of the castle allowing day light to filter in. The signs of damage were overwhelming now, melted and warped stonework, cracked and splintered stones and deep claw-like scratches littered the floor and walls mingling with the burns and smears of spell damage that was liberally splashed around as Dumbledore had attempted to duel the creature in his escape. What had Carrow managed to create?

Dumbledore slowed to a halt in the shadow behind a particularly ugly statue of a gargoyle while Snape and Flitwick hung back prepared for anything given that Carrow was somehow connected to this. Around the corner was the corridor that led directly to Carrow's chamber, carefully warded by the man and now a death trap for the unwary. A rustling noise accompanied by the faint rattling of chains and whispering on the edge of hearing like distant children's laughter came from the now hazardous passage coming ever closer to the unnerved professors.

Long steel talons grasped the corner of the meeting passages, blue sparks leaping from etched rune to etched rune, scraping yet more deep wounds in the fabric of the castle as they sliced through the stone as if it were butter. The thing peered around the corner. Snape and Flitwick gaped in shock at the strange creature while Dumbledore actually growled at it. The golden death mask of the creature tilted to one side, its eyes flickering bale-fire, as it considered the threat level of the new intrusion. It stalked around the corner on skeletal legs augmented with sheaths of pierced, filigreed gold that imitated the shape of muscular limbs. Snape could clearly see that the construction of the entire thing followed the same lines; a golden decorative layer that barely hid the long deceased bones, stained with age, some with wizened pieces of flesh still attached, glowing sigils and runes crowding the bone's surface. A few lank hairs clung grimly to the back of the thing's skull. The gold mask, an angelic, beautiful face, tilted slightly as the "creature" considered them; twittering and giggling to itself like a couple of small children conspiring together over some amusing little prank.

"I think this is where we leave, Headmaster," Snape hissed to the man, "Headmaster!"

But Dumbledore was not listening to him at all, completely focused as he was on the man-made monster in front of him; slashing his wand down he uttered the incantation to a particularly nasty entrails expelling hex. The sickly yellow light splashed harmlessly across the thing's chest. The distant twittering turned to crying as fragile as glass; the creature launched itself at Dumbledore as it lashed at him with its other arm with its hand of long metal chains all sparking and crackling with the intense magical power held there. Dumbledore threw himself awkwardly sideways landing in a heap with a yelp of pain as the whistling chains crashed in to the wall, crushing the stonework and reducing some of it to gravel. Recovering first the thing, creature, whatever it was pounced, quick as lightening, for the killing blow.

"DESISTIS!" bellowed a deep, booming voice from behind them; one Snape had never been so pleased to hear to before. The thing stopped in its tracks and retreated as Carrow continued to bark orders at it in High Gothic.

Shaken, Flitwick and Snape helped the rather battered and shaken headmaster to his feet.

"Let's get you to Poppy," Flitwick patted Dumbledore's arm comfortingly.

Carrow blocked their way, head slightly tilted, his expression unreadable. "If you wished to try yourself against my security golem you only had to ask," Carrow surveyed the shell-shocked faces as if this was the most reasonable thing in the world.

Dumbledore stared in disbelief, his fragile temper hanging like a thread. All he had been trying to do was collect Carrow for the weekly meeting at Gringotts with the Potter account managers. Instead he had come very close to being killed twice within a matter of an hour in his own castle because of that...that thing; the first time he'd had to float himself down a twenty foot drop to get away. And now here was Carrow suggesting that he would deliberately want to fight the necromantic construct, because what else could the disgusting thing be? The delicate thread holding his temper in place snapped and after months of stress Dumbledore exploded.

"You great moronic lump!" he shouted red-faced with rage.

Snape and Flitwick watched in amazement as their normally composed and cheerful employer completely lost his cool. They hadn't realised he even knew language like that as he proceeded to describe what he thought of giant idiots who made highly dangerous magical objects in a school full of inquisitive children in some of the ripest language Snape had heard outside of the Knockturn area.

Carrow was initially amused by the ranting man's creative insults but when he started accusing him if necromancy, well, that was a little too much. Dumbledore obviously had little to no understanding as to the magics involved in making the golem but none of them could be described as necromancy. Carrow would never lower himself to such a base and corrupt activity.

"If you would fix your appearance Dumbledore then we can be on our way," Carrow's voice was cold and distant cutting through Dumbledore's angry tirade. He stalked away leaving the headmaster stuttering in indignation.

Flitwick gazed at the now quiescent golem at the other end of the passage a slightly manic gleam in his eyes. "I wonder how he made it," he mused, "there were some rather unusual rune combinations that I could see. I wonder whether it's worth asking him."

Snape and Dumbledore just glared.

OOOOOO

Dumbledore sat in the wood panelled office at Gringotts watching in increasing unease at the ridiculous sums of money that the goblins and Carrow were moving around. He'd given up getting directly involved when he'd started being terrified of the size of the figures involved. Of course he dutifully read the annual financial reports of the Ministry. It was important after all that he was up-to-date with such information but the figures involved were insignificant compared to the scale of the fortune that Carrow was busily amassing. What was the man intending to do with so much money? The goblins obviously didn't mind and Carrow had quickly become their favourite customer as his account grew so large and extensive it required a small team to manage it.

Currently Carrow and the goblins were discussing a potential business investment in a muggle firm. Dumbledore hadn't quite been able to catch the name, knocking? Knocker? Who knew? Muggles gave things such strange names, bless them. Feeling the weight of the day pressing down on him he decided to rest his eyes, just for a few minutes.

OOOOOO

When he realised he was lying on his back Dumbledore snapped open his eyes in surprise. The familiar ceiling of the infirmary loomed overhead. How in Merlin's name had he ended up here? Madam Pomfrey bustled over, "Ah good, you're finally awake."

"How..." Dumbledore began.

Pomfrey interrupted him, "Carrow brought you here." She frowned, pursing her lips. The large man was not her favourite person, not by a long way. "He was concerned for your well-being. Apparently you fell asleep at Gringotts and he was unable to rouse you."

Pomfrey bustled around the headmaster, fluffing his pillows and straitening his bedding.

"He was concerned your morning encounter had been overly strenuous for a man of your age. Just for once I'm inclined to agree with him."

Albus settled back onto his pillows, confused and bewildered, as Pomfrey bustled off. Carrow was such a mass of contradictions, caring but brutal and callous, honourable but deceitful and underhand. Would he ever understand the man?

OOOOOO

Several weeks later and Gilderoy Lockhart was having a very good day. He hadn't seen that nasty man once, even at a distance, his classes had gone well, the weather had been mild and sunny, a sign that spring was definitely on its way, and he'd even found time to bleach his hair and curl it, and now he was relaxing with a large glass of Old Ogden's answering all the wonderful letters his fans insisted on sending him. He did wish that some of the older witches would desist in sending him their knickers to be autographed though; he did have standards.

He happily hummed to himself as his peacock feather scratched its way across the parchment, the multitude of self-portraits murmured to one-another about hair-care, and the fire crackled warmly in the pretty cast-iron grate.

A tentative knock on the door broke Lockhart's concentration. He froze, and then laughed at himself; it couldn't possibly be the monster, he was incapable of being quiet. It must be a student come for advice and here he was to save the day. Striding across the room he flung open the door beaming his special brighter-than-the-sun smile down at the diminutive red-headed girl on the other side.

"Ah Miss Weasley, what can I do for you this evening?" Lockhart faltered; something wasn't right here. "Are you all right?" he asked in concern.

As the girl looked up Lockhart sucked in a breath. Blood-red eyes glittered maliciously and an insane smile full of sharp teeth stretched across her face.

"Oh professor," she cooed, "I need your help, and only you will do."

OOOOOO

Carrow looked up startled from his evening meditations. A powerful ripple in the Warp was radiating out from a point nearby, possibly even inside the castle. There was no real reason why anybody in residence would require such strong psykery...except maybe the possession.

A quick check of the compact-like mirror which collected the information from his watch-birds revealed that Miss Weasley had indeed been out and about having recently been on the second floor corridor where the DADA classroom was, but was currently heading towards the Gryffindor common room. He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully; so the unnatural creature was up to something again. He needed to investigate if only to set his mind at rest.

Surging to his feet, Carrow bowed to the altar in the chapel he had made in his quarters, the Aquila that he had had made glinting in the light of the candles, incense smoke swirling in eddies as he strode away.

OOOOOO

Following his preternatural senses Carrow soon found himself on the second floor where he encountered Snape along with the Headmaster.

He looked from one serious face to the other with narrowed eyes, "So, you felt it too."

Dumbledore slowly nodded grimly. "Whatever occurred was this side of the castle."

A search of the surrounding corridors and classrooms revealed nothing unusual. The warp signature had been too diffuse for Carrow to point to a specific source, and the detectors in Dumbledore's office merely indicated that this was the affected area of the castle.

As they were passing Dumbledore banged on Lockhart's office door on the off chance the DADA teacher might have heard something unusual. They waited tensely, before Dumbledore tried again.

"Why are we wasting our time here?" Snape demanded, "The man is probably too busy working on his winning smile in front of the mirror."

Carrow had been standing back, impatiently waiting and not wanting to get too close to Lockhart in case he was tempted to tear the irritating man's head off. As they'd waited he'd become increasingly aware of a very familiar scent just faintly in the air.

Dumbledore startled as a gigantic hand gently pushed him away from the DADA professor's door. He watched in puzzlement as Carrow crouched and sniffed at the air coming from under the office door. Carrow hummed softly to himself. It was as he feared. He turned to the two members of staff, Dumbledore puzzled and Snape wary as they carefully watched him.

"I smell blood," he softly said, "lots of blood."

Drawing his boot-knife he checked the door carefully for any nasty surprises. Carefully easing it open he scanned the room beyond for any signs of life before sideling through the door.

Dumbledore followed Carrow in to the office, protesting the man's behaviour until he saw the state of the room beyond.

"Oh Merlin," he breathed. It was without a doubt the most horrific thing he'd ever seen in his long life. Snape was equally pale-faced, expression carefully blank, dark eyes intensely examining the horrific display before them.

Carrow carefully examined the room, delicately treading around puddles of gore. The stink of blood and dark sorcery hung thick and heavy in the air. He turned to his sickened and grey-faced companions.

"How... unimaginative," he sneered, standing hands on his hips, legs akimbo as he glared at the scene laid out before him.

Somebody or something had gained entrance to Lockhart's office and used him, or parts of him in some sort of ritual. His small intestines had been used to mark a rough circle while various organs had been strategically placed around the perimeter, his blood used to inscribe mind bending runes around its edge. Here were the man's eyes, a deflated glove of flesh that used to be the man's right hand, a spleen, his heart, his ears artfully arranged, a lump of flesh that might have been a tongue, a lump of gristle that on closer inspection was the remains of his nose and a single lone kidney. All had a strange iridescent jelly-like quality as if they had been sapped of their vitality.

Then as if in a fit of boredom the perpetrator had taken Lockhart's flayed skin and nailed it piece by piece to the wall in some gruesome parody of life. The pieces of flesh hung limply and despondent off the wall where they had been affixed, the previously jaunty blonde curls matted with blood and other bodily fluids.

"What?!" gasped Dumbledore.

"They always do the same thing," Carrow replied grimly, "though this is quite a minor incident." He frowned thoughtfully, giving the piles of offal another careful inspection.

"We have a slight problem," Carrow looked carefully from Snape to Dumbledore.

"Well of course we've got a problem," Snape snarled, "we've got a room full of human offal and no DADA teacher," he gesticulated wildly, "the perpetrator is probably loose in the school, and worst of all , I'm probably going to have to cover the bloody man's classes!"

Carrow's lips twitched at the smaller man's humour; he liked the way Snape always tried to lighten the mood.

"Some of Lockhart's mortal remains are missing," he looked around again, "his skeleton is not here at all...and some of his internal organs are gone too..." he mused.

Dumbledore and Snape just watched numb in shock as Carrow continued his inspection of Lockhart's office and then his private quarters beyond. Though both had seen horrors in their lives neither had ever witnessed anything this extreme.

Carrow paced back to them, carefully skirting around the puddles of gore, never entering the circle of entrails.

"I'm not too worried about the missing organs. Whoever did this probably ate them," he announced looking down at Dumbledore and Snape, "The skeleton on the other hand..."

The two men shivered utterly sickened.

"We need to find that skeleton as quickly as possible, and..." he gestured to the bloody mess on the floor, "this needs to be cleansed as soon as possible."

Dumbledore snapped to his senses, "Now wait a moment," he started, holding up his hands, "this is very serious, far too serious for us to deal with in-house as it were." He gestured to the gory circle, "Dark magic of an extremely horrific and dangerous nature has been used here in a murder. I need to call the Aurors in."

Snape nodded in agreement, he was an acknowledged expert in the Dark Arts but this went beyond anything he'd ever witnessed. It looked like an illustration of a summoning circle he had once seen except that hadn't used body parts. Snape could feel the palms of his hands sweating with nerves. He had a very horrible feeling about this.

"Aurors?" Carrow asked puzzled, "Your local law-enforcers?" He shook his head. "That would be a very bad idea. It would take time to get them here, time that we don't have, plus I highly doubt they would have the...expertise to deal with this situation. Now, we need to get on with this"

He hustled the smaller men out of the room, Dumbledore protesting all the way. After finally locking and warding the room, Carrow rounded on the headmaster.

"Dumbledore, I have dedicated my life to fighting the perpetrators of acts like that," he jabbed one massive digit at the closed and locked door, "That is a very minor example of the sort of warp-craft that I have witnessed. In other words I am the best person, the only person, to resolve this situation with the minimum of lost life. Do not fight me on this."

Troubled and conflicted, Dumbledore stared up in to Carrow's hard and pitiless eyes. Faintly he nodded. He knew he was out of his depth and if Carrow knew what he was doing and could help, well...

"Do both of you know the Fiendfyre cantrip?" Carrow asked. It was the closest magic to the purifying fire he was able to produce that he'd been able to find.

Dumbledore and Snape looked at one another momentarily, their unease increasing all the while. They slowly nodded.

"Good," Carrow stated firmly, "If you find the skeleton first, use it, do not hesitate, do not let it touch you, if in doubt get away from it as fast as you can." He looked from one man to the other, "no excuses."

So began one of the most nerve wracking forty five minutes of Snape's and Dumbledore's lives.

OOOOOO

Snape stalked down one of the school's many corridors glaring in to every shadow, flinching at every sound. Carrow's laugh when they had asked what they were looking for and his "you'll know it when you see it" had not been very reassuring, not reassuring at all.

Fortunately at this time in the evening there were very few students about, those that he'd met he'd sent back to their common rooms with a bee in their ear, quite literally in the case of one particularly cheeky Hufflepuff.

He paused momentarily; there was that rustling sound again. He'd thought it was a student's pet but now that it was closer it sounded wrong, too large, for a cat out hunting the castle's rodent population.

The rustling came again accompanied by scrabbling scratching sounds as something skittered among the ceiling arches nearby; definitely larger than a cat. It sounded almost large enough to be a dog, a big dog at that. Maybe a young acromantula had got in to the castle, though that should have set off the wards, the headmaster having added a repel-creatures clause to them not wanting a repeat of the recent troll incident.

Wand held at the ready Snape silently stalked towards the skittering sound as it came ever closer. It really wasn't the most sensible thing to do but he had to know what was causing it.

The skittering and scrabbling suddenly came from behind him as if the perpetrator of it had taken a leap across the corridor causing Snape to jump out of his skin and whirl round wand raised and a rather nasty hex on his lips.

Still nothing. Frantically scanning the walls and ceiling as the invisible "thing" skittered up the walls and in among the ribs of the ceiling arches, the sounds always coming closer, Snape carefully backed away his gaze constantly scanning the ceilings and walls for a sign of movement, of something, anything at all.

The unseen creature leaped closer, scrabbling and scratching across the ceiling knocking down centurys worth of dust all the while muttering to itself in a hissing cackle. Blue iridescent eyes gleamed at him momentarily, malicious and cruel, and utterly inhuman.

Snape's breath caught in his throat, cold sweat trickling down his back as he continued to slowly back away from whatever this was, all his senses screaming at him to turn tail and flee as fast as he could. His back hit something solid and he suddenly realised to his horror that the vile creature had carefully cornered him in a blind passage where it was now effectively blocking off his escape route.

The creature stalked forward in to the dim torch light along the wall of the corridor apparently not feeling the need to obey gravity at all, its taloned appendages gouging at the stone work, joints bending and moving in unnatural ways, its grinning maw full of jagged teeth that glittered in the flickering light.

He could see its form more clearly now and seriously wished he hadn't. A human skeleton but twisted and warped in unnatural ways, coated in a slime of blue flames that dripped like melting jelly off its limbs, hissing and spitting were the fat globules came in to contact with the stones of the castle; and all the while the warped and twisted "thing" hissed and cackled calling out to him "Severusss...Severusss..."

It must be the missing mortal remains of Lockhart; Snape was furious and terrified all at once. He was going to kill Carrow when he got his hands on him or at least kick him very hard in the ankles; "you'll know it when you see it" indeed.

Snape carefully took aim. "Pyrus Demonicum," he hissed giving his wand a vicious flick. A torrent of flaming beasts, dragons, griffons, hippogriffs poured forth from his wand writhing and dancing towards the nightmare creature. Cackling like a hyena it jinxed and weaved from side to side easily evading the destructive fire that lashed the corridor.

Sweating beading his brow Snape fought the magic for control before wrestling it away completely effectively ending the fire.

The creature prowled across the corridor in front of him leering and cackling, saliva drooling in strings from its ragged gash of a mouth.

So this was it. If he was going to be killed by the reanimated remains of a very mediocre wizard whose only talent was self promotion he was going to make it bleed for it. Snape readied himself for his end, taking careful aim and preparing to cast again; until he had to sling himself side-ways out of the path of a fireball thrown from the other end of the corridor. Never had he been so pleased to see Carrow in his life. The big man quickly approached halting a safe distance from the creature, eyes narrowed, teeth barred in a triumphant grin.

The disgusting creature turned side-ways hissing and cackling at this new arrival sensing the threat that Carrow represented to its continued survival.

Spotting Snape Carrow backed up a few paces before taking a running jump over the creature. A mere blur when in motion he rolled into a crouch between Snape and the creature giving the potions master a rather closer view of his tightly leather clad and muscular buttocks than he had ever wanted in his entire life.

Carrow now formed a large and highly dangerous barricade between Snape and certain doom, one that had drawn its side-arm and was taking careful aim.

The creature jinxed from side to side, desperate to avoid the catastrophic heat of Carrow's plasma pistol. Though it was fast so was the Inquisitor, his shots grazing it causing it to scream in rage, frustration and pain, its cries turning agonised when Carrow's careful aim caused one of its hind limbs to vaporise. The stench of ozone, dark magic and burnt and corrupted flesh was nausea inducing causing Snape's eyes to water and his stomach to rebel.

The stink of magic in the corridor increased as Carrow started to chant in his curiously butchered Latin, the chain that he always wore somewhere on his person, generally around his torso, began to glow, blue sparks jumping from link to link, before it moved unravelling itself and snaking through the air to ensnare the abominable creature before them.

If Snape had thought the creature's cries were horrific before it was nothing to the sounds it uttered as the sanctified touch of the "Purgatus of St Seraphim" held it captive, burning its very being with the purity of its touch. The resulting screams were heard by every single being in the castle.

A pale and shaken Dumbledore arrived at a run at the other end of the corridor just in time to watch Carrow throw a large, pure white fire-ball at the writhing creature whose flesh had begun to smoke. Its cries of hate and pain were suddenly cut off and its body disintegrated in to a small pile of dust leaving the Purgatus suspended in the air.

Carrow stepped past the previously occupied area, the Purgatus snaking back to him, writhing in to place around his torso, clinking and purring as it did.

"Now we need to cleanse the room," he announced, walking past a dazed and shaken Dumbledore.

OOOOOO

A week later found Dumbledore staring morosely at the DADA professor's office door. Carrow had painted a large red "X" on it before warding it to the best of his abilities to ensure no intruders. He'd been very insistent that the room couldn't be used for the next two hundred years at least and had sealed it with that intent. Dumbledore had tried breaking in on his own before enlisting the help of various members of staff. He had had no more luck working together with Filius and Bathsheba. The eldest Weasley child was working for Gringotts as a curse breaker now a days; maybe he could enlist his help. It was quite possible his professional eye would spot something they hadn't. In the meantime Dumbledore had been forced to move the location of the DADA classes. For the first time since 1547 they were being taught elsewhere in the school.

But of course this all lead up to the final and most major problem, the absolute worst in Dumbledore's opinion. He'd been forced to take part in the cover up of what was clearly murder. With Carrow's meticulous clean-up and cleansing there was no crime-scene, nor was there a body. He'd been forced to stand up in front of the school and announce that Lockhart had resigned his post to further his travels, something that was bound to come back and bite him on his behind. He'd partially got his won back though by appointing Carrow as temporary DADA professor for the rest of the year. Dumbledore had already viewed the memory o the large man's expression several times in his pensive. It never failed to make him chuckle. Hopefully with supervision from some of the other teaching staff Carrow wouldn't be able to perpetrate too much mayhem.

He idly trailed his fingers along the banister as he walked back to his office where, hopefully, Carrow would be waiting for him. He'd invited his newest professor for tea biscuits this evening in the hope of coaxing some answers out of the highly evasive man.

OOOOOO

Carrow sat back in the chair he had conjured for himself, delicately sipping tea from a rose-patterned bone china teacup. The Headmaster's office was its usual crowded self with the tables of magical knick-knacks and the blank picture frames on the walls. He'd been assured by Snape that normally these were portraits of past headmasters and mistresses. He'd only ever seen one, Phineus Nigellus Black, who was currently watching him with an air of casual disinterest. The Headmaster's phoenix was also present watching him warily from its perch, alert to his every move.

The Headmaster seemed slightly unsettled as he meandered from inane topic to inane topic, always skirting around what Carrow thought he actually wanted to ask. After nearly an hour of this it was beginning to get a bit irritating.

"Headmaster," Carrow began gently, "what is it you really want to ask me?"

Dumbledore came to a stuttering halt staring at him like a rabbit into the headlamps of doom.

"Erm, well, that is..." he began before coming to a stuttering halt. Clearing his throat he tried again, "it's something that has been bothering me for a while I'll admit," he closed his eyes as if mustering all his strength, "What differentiates your...golem from what poor Gilderoy became?"

Carrow smirked slightly, "A good question, a difficult one to answer too." He took a sip of tea savouring the delicate taste of the Chinese rose blend.

"I suppose a basic distinction would be that what Lockhart became was utterly unnatural and tainted beyond redemption as it required the destruction of his immortal soul, his very humanity."

Carrow pause momentarily, humming thoughtfully. "My golem, on the other hand, is made of inorganic and deceased organic materials and required neither ritual nor tainting nor illegal magics to make, merely my own ingenuity and imagination."

Dumbledore looked sceptical.

"Then there is the intent with which both were made," Carrow continued, "The golem is designed to protect, I gave it strict instructions to not harm students, merely to chase them away."

Dumbledore glowered and Carrow smirked at him, "I left you adults out on the grounds you can look after yourselves."

Dumbledore was not placated.

"The...creature that Lockhart became on the other hand was made with the express intention of doing harm. As much harm as it possibly could." Carrow leaned forward his eyes intent, "If we had waited it would have sought out as many living beings within the castle as possible and killed them in horrific ways. Physical injury would have been the very least of it."

Carrow settled back in his chair, "Does that answer your question?"

"There's something more isn't there?" Dumbledore asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.

Carrow nodded slowly, "Yes there is. I sought the blessing of the God-Emperor himself for my golem. I'm sure it wouldn't function without it."

Dumbledore scrunched his face up in consternation, "what..."

Carrow held a hand up forestalling Dumbledore's bewildered disbelief, "The abomination on the other hand did not have this, was in fact made by something which wishes to utterly destroy, corrupt, defile and subsume humanity, to play with as a toy. That is probably the most important difference."

"The God-Emperor?" Dumbledore whispered, now beyond bewildered.

"Yes, the God-Emperor," Carrow replied gravely, "he who protects and guides humanity, though at the moment he is doing it covertly."

"What..." Dumbledore gasped not having expected the conversation to acquire religious overtones.

"Indeed," Carrow replied, "Now I have a lesson to plan so if you don't mind..." he grinned wolfishly.

Dumbledore sat in stunned silence after Carrow left. So he'd got his answers, some of them that is, now what did he do with the information?

"Is it me or did I wake up in an alternate reality," he asked Fawkes. The phoenix chirped sympathetically.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry Potter belongs to J K Rowling, the wonderful lady who has inspired so many people to try their hand at writing too. Warhammer 40k belongs to Games Workshop who have a very scary legal team. Please don't sue me, I'm not very well off and could only pay you in pictures. I only mean to pay homage to the wonderful, funny, baroque, gruesomeness that is WH40k.

Author's Note

So this is the very last chapter Inquisitor Carrow and it really didn't want to be written, and it got longer and longer. I tried to split it in two but it didn't want to do that either. Are all last chapters this difficult?

* * *

Chapter 10

Snape was furious, not only had the Headmaster done something completely idiotic like make Carrow the fill-in Defence teacher, he'd then asked him to supervise since "they got along so well together". As if he hadn't got enough to do, and frankly the idea of Carrow teaching a group of children was a worrying thought. What was Dumbledore thinking?

More worryingly, the Headmaster had promised to help him out by covering some of his classes for him, while he was off stopping the giant lump from permanently damaging the students. He wouldn't be surprised if the irritating old man decided to teach the little brats how to make cauldron toffee...or even popcorn, leaving the talentless cretins even further behind than they already were.

He cautiously sidled past the monstrosity that was Carrow's security golem, its eyeless sockets following his every move. He knew Carrow had keyed him in to his defences, but it certainly didn't set his mind at ease. Breathing a sigh of relief once he was inside the old fencing hall, Snape looked around surprised and suspicious at some of the new additions to the room. Dust-sheet draped figures, unnervingly humanoid in shape, stood along one wall, while towering above them was Carrow's "inspirational" mural of a horrific battle scene. It was so detailed Snape had a suspicion that Carrow had based it on events that he'd actually witnessed, which was not a reassuring thought at all.

The previously empty alcove was full of boxes. Since Carrow wasn't obviously around, he had a sneaky peak before recoiling in disgust. Human bones, the boxes were full of human bones. Where had Carrow found so many fresh human bones? There had been no further reports of any grave robbing so that, probably, ruled that out.

A soft rustle from behind caused him to spin round, wand drawn, ready for anything that Carrow's warped and over-active creativity could throw at him. A small woman or maybe a teenage girl stood before him, clothed in a loose black robe, her brown hair looked as if it had been hacked off roughly with a knife; and then he saw her eyes, her very red eyes as of a very recently fed vampire. They had a curious, unfocused quality to them as if she wasn't quite aware of what was in front of her. Snape looked at her more closely; on the palms of both hands were burn scars in the form of runes. Snape's knowledge of runes was fairly basic, but these appeared to be for control of some kind. He looked at her sharply.

"What has happened to you, I wonder?" He couldn't see Carrow doing something like this despite some of his stranger tendencies. The large man was oddly honourable in his way.

"Natasha," boomed Carrow's deep and gravelly voice.

The little vampire trotted away to seek out her current protector.

Snape's mind was whirling as seemingly unconnected incidences started to connect making a horrible sort of sense. An icy feeling in his stomach, he looked up at the perpetrator of this entire mess. "Explain?" he hissed furious and scared at the latest mess the large man had caused.

Carrow explained...as much as he was prepared to.

"So you decided to "waste not, want not" with the remains of your pet vampire's "snacks" from Knockturn and keep the bones to make more of your golems," Snape managed to get out, feeling slightly hysterical. Prolonged contact with Carrow was starting to make him have fond recollections of Death Eater meetings.

Carrow shrugged his shoulders, completely at ease. "They're for the Lodge when I move in permanently."

Snape closed his eyes and counted down from ten slowly, in Mandarin Chinese. Feeling slightly calmer, he glared at the Inquisitor.

"As for...Natasha, your first thought on finding her was "I must give the poor thing a home"? I've never heard anything so ridiculous I my life!" he ground out, hanging on to his temper with an act of will.

"I couldn't leave her there." Carrow gazed at Natasha who was currently trying to sink her fangs in to the flesh of his wrist and failing to make so much as a dent in the Astarte's toughened skin. "She's picking up the basics of knife fighting very quickly." He smiled down at her.

Snape rubbed his temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on. He glared up at Carrow. "Just this once, I'll cover for you, since I can make the blood substitute for vampires; but you should tell the headmaster that she is resident in the castle."

Snape glared up at the large man. What was Dumbledore thinking letting this near the students? Standing tall in his leather "body-glove" as he preferred to call it, looking as if he were entering a "how many knives can you strap to your body" contest, and with his little vampire curled up in his arms, Carrow looked the epitome of Dark Lord chic. Sensing his stares, Natasha looked up from her playful chewing of Carrow's fingers, giving the Potions Master a wide mouthed grin, fangs fully extended, dribbling down her chin. Snape shuddered.

"I was really here to discuss your first class," he flatly stated, "since I'm going to be supervising you."

Carrow considered the matter. "I'm going to start with the basics." He grinned nastily.

OOOOOO

Carrow followed the small red-haired girl-child at a distance careful that she wouldn't be too aware of him. According to his knowledge of her timetable she should currently be making her way towards the Charms classroom two floors below and considering the hissing muttering, she was definitely not in her right mind, quite literally.

Filius Flitwick must be quite worried about her non-appearance. The first staff meeting as a professor Carrow had taken the golden opportunity to set the teaching staff to watching Miss Weasley; the more eyes on her the better. He'd stated his concerns commenting on how subdued she seemed compared to her brothers. Was she well? Had there been family troubles? Was there a family history of depression or suicide? He'd noted that she tended to wander off into less frequented areas of the castle by herself.

It worried him.

The other staff looked at one another; he'd obviously touched on concerns that they'd all been harbouring; and promised to keep an eye out for the youngest Weasley child.

The result was the girl-child had been followed, talked to, and taken into various staff offices and offered tea and biscuits by different members of staff. She was unable to go anywhere without some concerned adult enquiring about her health.

It was all a good addition to his softly-softly approach.

"Miss Weasley," he growled from the shadows, "should you not be in class?" The small child jumped with a small squeak of fright as Carrow emerged into the torch-light of the corridor.

The small child gave him a timid smile and a nod, before trotting back the way she came.

At least this time she hadn't strung any trip-wires across the tops of any stairs or cursed any door-ways. With his monitoring system of bird-golems indicating she was safely on her way to class he made his way to the new DADA classroom, his long stride quickly eating up the distance.

OOOOOO

Carrow's own experience of teaching was patchy to say the least. He had, of course, trained his own acolytes to his desired specifications. All of them had been adults, all of them had had previous experience of either the military or law enforcement, so he was merely adding to what they already knew. And of course, he had his treasured memories of his scout training, under the not so gentle hands of Scout-Sergeant Tarkus, God-Emperor rest his soul. It was an interesting challenge to adapt his favourite techniques to untried and untested children; to have the chance to shape and mould such young and tender minds, while teaching them to defend themselves against the evils of the universe was both a challenge and a privilege. Well, Inquisitor Carrow was going to seize this opportunity with both hands and run with it, which was why he was now prowling up and down in front of a row of terrified teenagers. Why they were terrified, he couldn't fathom, as he had the most marvellous treat lined up for them today. Their behaviour was very different from the first week of his classes.

The knowledge that he had in fact once been Harry Potter was wide spread among the student population who had clear memories of the small and shy first year from only a year ago. Some individuals saw this as a reason to not take him seriously, after all how could he possibly have anything to teach them, and attempted to disrupt his classes in various ways. He soon disabused them of any such notions they might have had about his competence as he made them run round the lake regardless of the weather and drilled them mercilessly in the basics of the sword and hand-to-hand fighting in the cold and the mud and the rain.

The students were not used to having such a hands-on teacher who almost exclusively gave practical lessons and firmly believed that theory was something they should research in their spare time and set essays accordingly. Some of them had attempted to confront him about his methods, most notably Draco Malfoy. The scrawny little boy had stormed up to him during the first second year Gryffindor-Slytherin class. From the way he was limping, Carrow rather thought the boy had large blisters caused by his fancy dress shoes rubbing as they got damp. The ridiculous boy had ranted about the weather, about the (to him) excessive exercise, the unimportance of non-magical defence to a Wizard, they were above such things after all, finishing off with "when my father hears about this!" Carrow had been completely unmoved. He was very happy to inform Lucius Malfoy of his son's performance or lack of it, and had pointed out to young Draco that if he didn't buck up his attitude, it was highly likely that his father might very well reconsider his position as the Malfoy heir, and replace him with one of his more talented bastards. The little brat had stared at him eyes bulging, mouth hanging open at that. He'd been very quiet in his classes ever since.

If the students had been shocked by his approach, he'd been just as shocked by them. Though he'd been living in the Castle for four months he'd had little contact with most of the student body; as he'd slowly got to know them he'd been stunned by their attitude to life. He'd never met such a sheltered, innocent and optimistic group of individuals. Some of them had never experienced death, not even that of an animal! He had been particularly disgusted with the dreadful fitness levels of the majority of the student body and had started an early morning running club to remedy it. He had tried to make it compulsory for every student, but much to his annoyance, the Headmaster had vetoed that idea despite his arguments. Regardless of the irritating road-blocks placed in his way, he was determined to bring every student up to an acceptable fitness level, and so increased the physical difficulty of the normal classes accordingly.

OOOOOO

The combined fourth year Gryffindor-Slytherin class watched the dangerous figure of Professor Carrow prowl back and forth at the front of the class. Clad only in the tight fitting leather "body-glove" that he regularly wore, weapons strapped round his body and the mysterious chain wrapped around his torso, the new professor was an intimidating figure, especially compared to the embarrassing joke who'd been teaching them a mere month ago. There was no slacking or joking around in Carrow's class. It could literally result in death.

"Well, class," Carrow purred, grinning in what he thought was a friendly manner, "I have a very special treat for you today."

One of the Gryffindor girls went a delicate shade of eau de nil; maybe there was a stomach bug doing the rounds again. Carrow waved the reluctant students over to the duelling pit he had insisted was absolutely essential. With a touch of his telekinesis one of the containment cells that lined the pit's walls opened releasing its disgruntled contents, an adolescent acromantula hissing and clicking in rage at its confinement.

"I caught enough so that there's one each," Carrow told the class reassuringly while giving them an encouraging smile. One of the Slytherin students started to cry softly. Carrow sighed inwardly; some students just didn't want to learn.

"You won't need your wands for this," he reassured the gathered students as he leaped down in to the pit, "now I will demonstrate the best areas to target, watch carefully!"

The students unconsciously stood closer together for the little safety and comfort they could gain, as their overly large teacher pointed out the weak points on the giant spider's legs, its soft underbelly and the vulnerable area at the back of its head, mainly by sticking his boot knife in, while delivering a constant narrative on technique. As the mutilated corpse slumped to the ground, breathing its last, he leapt lightly out of the pit.

"Right, class," he said, with a cheerful grin, "select a blade from the rack and form an orderly queue."

Carrow watched in mild puzzlement as the class fought quietly for the back of the line. He found their behaviour rather odd, but no matter; he would make sure that they all got their rightful turn in the pit. When he was their age he would have been delighted at an opportunity such as this, and there would have been much competition between the aspirant "squads" for the most efficient kill times and the like, ungrateful little blighters.

One by one the students took their turn in the pit to try themselves against the half-grown creatures, the majority with reluctance. Some of them had to be assisted down in to the duelling pit with a levitation charm. He'd docked points from those students who had been slow or reluctant to make their kills and the one who had run round the pit screaming and then begged to be allowed out he'd given a detention to; he'd soon cure them of their reluctance.

The Weasley twins and one of the Slytherins were the only ones to manage a descent showing. Not the most efficient killers ever they had approached the task with the correct degree of enthusiasm and determination gaining them points.

All in all, it was quite a good class; much better than last week when he'd been teaching basic battlefield first aid with added healing charms. He thought it would be particularly instructive if the students practised their offensive hexes against one another, then they could have the practical experience of healing one another's injuries. The class had gone well until one of the young ladies had fainted. Her friends had explained that she disliked the sight of blood so much she tended to lose consciousness. Carrow had never heard anything so ridiculous in his life and had promptly used a useful little water charm, refused her pleas to go to the infirmary, and had given her detention for attempting to bunk off class. Despite the little upset, Carrow felt that things had gone well; much better for the students than just learning the theory alone. Carrow was a firm believer in learning through practical experience.

Medicae Pomfrey didn't see it in the same light though, as she had stormed up to him during dinner and then proceeded to threaten to string him up by his manhood if he ever put an entire class in the infirmary like that again. Apparently there had been a mass exodus there after he had released them.

He'd ignored her objections and proceeded with his lesson plan for the week, all part of his design to bring the average student up to combat standard, preferably of the Imperial Guard, but he knew that most of them would only manage the standard of an average PDF regiment. If only he had more time with them.

The only classes he made any real concession in were the first years on the grounds of their age and relative newness to Wizarding education.

By the middle of the week most students in the castle had had to go to the Apothecorian at least once due to an injury they hadn't managed to heal or had healed incorrectly, but learning to fight on while injured was such an important lesson that Carrow wasn't about to back down on this despite the daily visits from an increasingly furious Medicae, and the increasing bunking-off of certain students. Snape had been quite gleeful about rounding them up for him.

Things all came to a head on the Friday afternoon when Medicae Pomfrey had confronted him at dinner about his teaching techniques. He'd pointed out to her that he only had the best interest of the students at heart whether they liked it or not, and that her mollycoddling was stultifying their personal and physical development. How were they supposed to learn the skills necessary to survive in the harsh and brutal world that humanity inhabited if she got in the way? He couldn't understand why she was complaining about having work to do either; wasn't it her job to heal people?

Apparently this was the wrong thing to say. Madam Pomfrey had become increasingly incensed as Carrow had ranted. The man was cruel, brutal and shouldn't be allowed near children. His questioning of her professional integrity was the last straw.

Carrow watched in fascination as the woman proceeded to do a rather creditable impression of a sabre-toothed Carnodon, before attempting to string him up by his manhood just as she had promised. Carrow had easily dispelled the woman's magics but he couldn't effectively retaliate beyond that and taking her wand. If he'd attacked her in kind he would have easily injured or even killed her, something that would not endear him to the local population, and he needed them on his side, as he had to live with them, Throne curse it! Fortunately Dumbledore and McGonagall had stepped in and stopped the one-sided fight just as Pomfrey had transfigured some silverware into needles and animated them to repeatedly stab at him.

He still thought it was a good lesson plan though.

As the students made their exit as quickly as they reasonably could he approached the front of the class. Severus Snape was currently sitting in the teacher's chair, feet up on the desk, muttering at the latest issue of _Brewer's Cauldron_; disjointed snippets for the most part concerning the potential use of mint in calming drafts.

Carrow cleared his throat, amused, as Snape startled at the sound, but quickly covered it up with his usual dark scowl.

"Finished?" he snapped.

"Indeed." Carrow grinned at the other professor who winced. "Would you like to assist me in maiming the creatures for the first years? I suppose I ought to give them a leg up with this."

Snape considered for a moment, "Alright, but if Pomfrey asks I wasn't here."

Carrow chuckled. "Ever the politician, Severus."

OOOOOO

The evening meal was in full swing, the students excitedly chattering to one another, more eager than normal to escape Hogwarts and begin the summer holidays. The large and forbidding figure at the head table had a lot to do with having been personally responsible for every single student having to go to the infirmary due to injuries incurred in his classes. His unsympathetic attitude and "it's a learning experience" spiel had succeeded in completely polarizing the student body. They either loathed and feared him or considered him to be the best DADA teacher to ever stalk the halls of Hogwarts. The exams that he had put them all through had only further cemented their opinions. Many of the students were still nursing injuries from it and none wanted to talk about its particulars in detail.

The professor in question was surveying the student population through narrowed eyes ever alert to misdemeanours. He glanced over the Gryffindor table counting the red-heads. Percy was there, head in a book as always and there were the twins chatting animatedly to their friend Lee Jordan; now there was a student who'd dramatically improved once he'd got the idea. Further down was Ronald talking intently to Miss Granger. The boy had improved immensely from the rather average happy-go-lucky individual he'd been before the turn of the year. Obviously his older brothers' prank had had some beneficial side-effects.

So where was the youngest Weasley child, the only female? A second sweep showed she was most definitely not present, though she'd certainly been there at the start of the meal.

Carrow discreetly pulled out the mirror display; the bird-golems were currently watching the young lady in question making her way purposefully towards that fateful lavatory. If he was quick he would have time to stop the creature's machinations.

He gently nudged Snape; the smaller man glowered up at him, resenting being disturbed from his beef stew. Before the dark man could exercise his amusingly sharp tongue he showed him the data the mirror was presenting. Snape looked at him sharply, one eyebrow raised. Seeing the other man's understanding, he nodded back. This was the perfect opportunity to put their plan in action. Picking up his force-staff he discretely left the Great Hall.

OOOOOO

Slipping silently from shadow to shadow, Carrow followed the Basilisk and Miss Weasley, procession firmly in control, as they made their way through narrow corridors towards the main hub of the castle, the Entrance Hall and thereby the Great Hall, currently full of oblivious students happily chattering away as they looked forward to the beginning of the summer holidays.

The giant snake's scales hissed across the uneven flooring as it eased its way along, coils pushing against the walls to move its huge bulk forward as it travelled ever closer to the landing leading to the moving staircases.

Sneaking a quick look behind Carrow caught sight of Snape hiding in the shadows behind a pillar, face paler than normal, but jaw firmly set determined to see this through. The man had reserves of courage few could claim to possess. Carrow approved of him thoroughly.

As the Basilisk entered the Entrance Hall it paused confused by the overload of conflicting scents, new and old, assaulting its senses, its head swaying from side to side, tongue flickering out tasting the air, before locking on to the largest concentration of odours, the Great Hall.

The enormous magical snake surged forward on to the nearest staircase, its coils spilling over the banisters, its weight making the ancient stonework groan under the strain. The possessed girl-child followed the monstrous pet down to the next landing.

Seeing his chance Carrow surged forward coming to a halt behind an elaborately moulded pillar. Pulling out his plasma pistol he carefully sighted on the monstrous snake's head. With a flash and crackle of intense light the Basilisk's left eye vanished as if it had never been. The immense body of the creature thrashed and writhed in its death throes, its brain vaporised by temperatures more normally seen inside stars, the stairs groaning painfully. Miss Weasley jumped back on to the safety of the landing to avoid being crushed by the flailing body. With a catastrophic wrenching and grinding, the entire staircase wrenched free of its moorings as the snake's remains spilled down in to the Entrance Hall in a rain of chunks of stone and pieces of shattered staircase. The resounding crash rumbled through out the castle, as the ancient snake twitched a final time, before falling still, dust slowly pattering on to its glossy black scales.

OOOOOO

The sudden and rumbling roar of noise caused every piece of tableware in the Great Hall to vibrate in its place on the long tables. Through the silence that now enveloped the hall the sound of pattering as if debris was falling could be clearly heard. The occupants of the hall, student and teacher alike, stared at one another and then at the large, and above all, empty chair at the high table.

Dumbledore stood, tapping a goblet with a fork to get the hall's attention. He had just opened his mouth, about to reassure the hall and ask for calm when the awful cry came, resonating in some plain beyond sound. It spoke of frustration and rage, a bottomless malice, and above all, an insatiable hunger. It was a sound to chill the blood of the stoutest heart. It went on and on, seeming to never end.

Dumbledore shuddered, cold sweat trickling down his back, at the inhuman and evil sound. Finding his voice, he quickly reasserted order amongst the frightened and panicked students. Taking Flitwick and Sprout with him, he went down the hall to the main doors. Typically, Snape was not present. Dumbledore could only hope that the Potions Master was safe where ever he was, and stopping Carrow from doing anything truly catastrophic. He was starting to regret having encouraged their friendship.

A quick charm rendered the solid aged oak of the doors temporarily transparent revealing a scene of chaos and destruction. Chunks of masonry and sections of staircase lay haphazardly, tangled with the dead carcass of the largest snake any of them had ever seen, its black scales dulled with dust and small debris. Above this devastation, on the second floor landing, was a light show of unreal colours as a battle for dominance took place between powerful foes.

Dumbledore, Sprout and Flitwick exchanged looks. This was one fight which they were better off staying out of.

OOOOOO

Carrow ignored the abomination's cries of rage at the death of its toy, instead getting as close as he safely could to the thing before sending a pulse of psychery to the Purgatus. The runes on the chain glowed to life and the holy tool writhed away from his torso seeking out the damned creature before it. The girl-child's body was comparatively clumsy, and its attempts at escape and evade the chain were laughable. Its furious cries redoubled and turned to screams of acute pain as the blessed chain snaked around the small form of Miss Weasley imprisoning her, burning her skin with its holy and sanctified touch.

Holding his force-staff in front of him Carrow began to incant prayers to the God-Emperor, of purity and fortitude. Balefire coruscated around the haloed skull atop his staff, moving along its length and even jumping the short distance to his head. His eyes glowed with an unearthly blue light, cold and pitiless. With a single thought, the Purgatus of St Seraphim wrenched sideways passing through Miss Weasley's body as if she were made of smoke. Her slight form crumpled to the floor unconscious, while the abomination which had made its home within her all these months was finally revealed.

The unnatural creature's form was slightly out-of-focus as if it were...not quite there. Its blood red flesh flowed like water in its attempts to escape the burning purity of the Purgatus. Multiple bile-green eyes, slit like a goat's, glared malevolently at him, cold and hungry and utterly inhuman. A mouth opened impossibly wide snarling and spewing forth foul corrupt words, unnatural words to destroy the mind and corrupt the weak. Carrow snarled his defiance, utterly unimpressed by this warp-spawned thing, strong in his faith in the God-Emperor, steadfast in his duty to humanity.

"Severus! Now!" he shouted to the professor. The normally acerbic man shook himself out of his stupor, his usual composure broken in the face of this horrific monstrosity that he was faced with. Stealing himself, he ran forward, keeping low, doing his best to concentrate on the task of gathering the Weasley girl to safety, constantly reminding himself that Carrow had the...the whatever it was safely contained. He grabbed the child's slight form and ran, never looking back, for the comparative safety of the Infirmary.

The abomination redoubled its efforts at escape as it saw its host being carried away to safety, its cries ever more furious and terrible.

OOOOOO

The furious and malicious screams from outside the hall became ever more penetrating and unbearable, mingled in with foul sounds which made all who heard them shudder in revulsion. Silencing charms did not work to mitigate it in any way. Dumbledore surveyed the hall from his post by the main doors. This was a potential disaster as most of the students were cringing and recoiling from the sounds, many panicking, most in tears.

"Why don't we get everybody to sing the school song?" Flitwick piped up, the normal cheer of his voice sounding strained.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to declare it a silly idea, but on second thoughts...

"What an excellent idea, Filius," he declared. Firing sparks into the air with a resounding bang he got everyone's attention.

"Right everyone, I think now would be an excellent point to sing the school song. Everyone pick a tune!" He waved his wand and the first lines of the song appeared, "and off we go!"

The singing was a little tentative at first, but as the students realised the positive effect they soon put all their effort in, even the most reluctant Slytherins. The Weasley twins cast a sonorous charm on themselves while singing along to the tune of Jerusalem.

It was one of the most rousing performances of the school song that anybody had witnessed in living memory.

OOOOOO

Carrow began his chanting again, ignoring the desperate thrashing of the creature against its bonds, blue fire concentrating ever more in to his force-staff as he gathered his power. Holding his staff like a javelin he threw the staff, now a glowing brand of purifying fire, straight at the heart of the howling abomination.

The blazing staff struck true impaling the creature through and through. It screamed one last time, a sound of such horror, a desperate hateful sound full of malice and hate, utterly alien. As the warp-spawn's body glowed brighter and brighter it began to disintegrate as it was dissipated back to whence it had come. The shock-wave of its final scream as it completely disappeared knocked Carrow back a couple of steps. The Purgatus and force-staff hung in the air momentarily before falling to the floor with a clatter. Carrow brushed away a little dried blood from his nose; a side-effect of being so close to the death throes of the creature. Summoning his force-staff and the Purgatus to him, he made his way to the infirmary, the Purgatus writhing back into place around his torso.

Miss Weasley needed to be inspected as quickly as possible for signs of taint. She'd been playing host to a creature of the warp for Throne only knew how long. If he had his way he'd shoot her in the head and then burn the body. Unfortunately, the delicate sensibilities of the Wizarding World would not tolerate this course of action, or understand its necessity. The sooner he gained total control of it, the better.

OOOOOO

Madam Pomfrey was furious. Snape had charged into the Infirmary carrying an unconscious student. His normal composure was completely broken, tears streaming down his face, body shaking uncontrollably. The poor man had been unable to speak, only able to point to Miss Weasley before hunching on one of the beds and staring at a distant point.

She'd done what she could for the poor girl before sorting Severus out, pouring a calming draft down him and getting him comfortable. Just as she was tucking in the now drowsy man the Infirmary doors burst open and Carrow strode in in all his dark glory, leather cassock swirling around his ankles, force staff in hand.

"That blasted man," Pomfrey snarled to herself, storming down the ward to head him off from whatever lunacy he was about to perpetrate now. She spluttered indignantly when he ignored her totally, shouldering past her, striding towards Miss Weasley's bed.

Carrow looked down at the small child lying on the bed, pale and still. Only the steady sound of the beat of her heart indicated she was alive. He had to make sure she was free of taint; he had to be absolutely certain. He'd still prefer to kill her and burn her body. Sighing heavily at the hardships life threw at him, he reacted out with his mind looking for anything, a shadow, a taste, that anything of the abomination lingered about her.

A careful examination revealed nothing obvious, but then taint was an insidious thing that lurked in an obscure corner biding its time before spreading and causing chaos and destruction. If he was going to leave the girl-child alive he had to be absolutely sure. He opened his mind's eye further, cautious to any danger lurking in the warp, the comforting presence of the God-Emperor just on the horizon. He looked towards it, praying that he succeeded in purifying Miss Weasley. The presence didn't stay safely on the horizon but reached out towards him, engulfing him.

OOOOOO

Madam Pomfrey outraged at Carrow's behaviour had approached the man and was ready to launch a verbal tirade at him when the magical concentration within the Infirmary peaked to ridiculous levels. The hairs on her arms stood on end as the air in the room thickened as if in a thunderstorm.

"What..." she began.

Carrow turned his head but it wasn't Carrow that looked back at her, eyes glowing golden with unearthly power, an uncharacteristic quirk of the lips, and then whatever it was...winked at her. Pomfrey stared open mouthed as it turned back to poor Miss Weasley and placed one of its, Carrow's hands gently on her head, golden light collecting around his enormous digits, slowly enveloping Ginevra Weasley's still form.

OOOOOO

Carrow blinked finding himself once more standing at the foot of Miss Weasley's sickbed, feeling as if he'd been run over by a Baneblade, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. Swaying, he turned unsteadily to find the medicae woman staring at him in shock, eyes round, mouth open giving him an excellent and unwanted view of her tonsils. He took a step away from the bed, nearly falling; the effort to remain upright was tremendous. Squinting against the encroaching black spots he saw that a number of the teaching staff had made it up to the infirmary. Dumbledore, Flitwick, Hooch and Hagrid stood in a row near the doors staring at him as if he'd grown another head. He checked carefully, he certainly hadn't. He shook his head trying to get rid of the annoying black spots that threatened to overwhelm his vision but failed miserably. As they finally coalesced into one, the horizon came up to meet him and he knew no more as he fell in to darkness.

OOOOOO

Twenty-four hours later saw a hastily convened meeting in Madam Pomfrey's office. The Infirmary had spent much of that time under siege as the entire student body trooped up, house by house, to receive calming drafts and sleeping potions before being sent to their dormitories. Currently the only beds occupied were the, still unconscious, Ginny Weasley and Carrow. Snape had been well enough that morning to leave to look after his students. The poor man had suffered horrible nightmares, and Madam Pomfrey had had to dose him with some Dreamless Sleep.

"What happened?" Dumbledore asked, as exhausted looking as Pomfrey felt, with large shadows under his eyes. Frankly, Pomfrey wasn't sure herself of the events that had happened in the Infirmary. Carrow had stormed in, had some strange sort of fit before collapsing with exhaustion. Of what had happened before? Well, that was still a complete mystery.

"We're going to have to wait, I'm afraid," Pomfrey sighed, "I've no more idea what happened yesterday than you. Severus is not talking, so we're going to have to wait for the great lump to come round."

Dumbledore sighed to himself; he'd spent a sleepless night making sure that the Entrance Hall was structurally sound and safe to use. With the help of the Castle's house elves, the mess had soon been cleared away, but the major repairs to the damaged staircase would have to be completed over the summer.

"When is...is Mr Carrow likely to come round?" he asked tentatively dreading the answer.

Madam Pomfrey looked grim. "We'll know within the next day or so. Considering how much magic he channelled through himself yesterday it's a miracle he's still alive not some burnt out husk."

She looked out on to the ward proper towards the occupied beds. A small group of red-heads were visiting young Ginevra Weasley as the boys waited for their mother to arrive at the Castle; Mr Carrow's bed on the other hand was surrounded by curtains to give him a little privacy, if he came round, and to keep him from prying eyes.

"Scratch it being a miracle he's alive," she restated turning back to the headmaster, "I'm shocked he isn't a smoking husk."

The headmaster nodded miserably, face lined with worry. He didn't like Carrow particularly but he certainly didn't want him dead...just somewhere very far away.

OOOOOO

Carrow blinked his eyes shedding the last vestiges of unconsciousness. The familiar white plastered ceiling of the Hogwart's Apothecorium lay overhead. A tiny, and he would admit rather childish, part of him wished that this was all a particularly strange dream and that he would wake up in his quarters on board the "Spear of Retribution". No such luck was coming his way.

Attempting to sit up he was hit by a wave of exhaustion which left him reeling. Puzzled for a moment it hit him; the cleansing of Miss Weasley, the God-Emperor reaching out to him. He had a feeling he was lucky to be alive. As it was, he felt as if he had been stood on by a titan. He scrubbed furiously at his face; he loathed being unwell. As he ran his hands over his head, he froze. Instead of the normal slick-backed neatness he normally sported, his questing fingers encountered short locks of soft, fluffy even, hair that were defiantly sticking up no matter how much he tried to flatten them. A...person had carefully removed every last trace of hair oil. Carrow was livid.

OOOOOO

Dumbledore and Pomfrey were enjoying a quiet cup of tea together, their conversation having moved on to more cheerful subjects when it happened. A booming bellow, a sound as of a wounded bull mastodon, reverberated around the infirmary rattling the window and vibrating loose objects.

Exchanging a look over his teacup with Poppy, Dumbledore sighed. "It appears that the sleeping leviathan awakes."

"I think I preferred him unconscious" muttered Madame Pomfrey.

OOOOOO

Pomfrey gave a huge sigh of relief as she strolled past the Weasley family gathered around little Ginny's bed. The young lady had finally regained consciousness last night and appeared to have survived her experiences with Carrow none the worse for wear. Even now she was happily chattering away to her parents and giggling at the antics of her twin brothers. Just to be certain Pomfrey had decided to keep her in till tomorrow morning just to make sure.

The other current occupant of the Infirmary was about to leave, currently sprucing himself up in the bathrooms. It would be a relief to be rid of him. Without a doubt, Carrow was the worst patient she'd ever had the misfortune to look after. Easily bored, unused to prolonged inactivity and unused to feeling debilitated, the large man had whined, sulked and constantly demanded her attention, while at the same time being argumentative and belligerent. When Snape had brought the man's pet vampire onto the ward Pomfrey was ready to tear her hair out, the young lady was obviously damaged in some way and out of some twisted sense of pity Carrow had taken her under his wing. The little creature had trailed around the Infirmary following her wherever she went, while Carrow snoozed. Pomfrey was utterly exhausted from having to deal with him and the strangeness that seemed to be attracted to him, and fervently hoped the awful man never, ever, darkened her door as a patient again.

The man in question shouldered his way through the bathroom door in to the Infirmary proper clad in his nightmare version of a military uniform, leather, epaulettes, skulls, chains and all. The Weasley family members who hadn't been exposed to him before stared in horrified fascination as the gigantic, menacing man made minute adjustments to his appearance, brushing invisible lint from his sleeves and carefully making sure his hair was in its proper, ordered and slicked-back state.

The Weasley twins grinned up at their favourite professor of all time, pleased to see him up and about "Alright Professor Carrow?" they chirped up.

Carrow rewarded them with a small smile. "Indeed" he rumbled.

The senior Weasleys jumped in surprise and eyed him and one another uneasily. The Headmaster would have only allowed this man's presence at the school if he considered him safe...wouldn't he?

Carrow eyed the two unfamiliar faces with interest. These must be the Weasley parents. He remembered the mother from all those years ago when he had gone to the locomotive terminus to catch the school train. She had seemed so large then but now she barely came up to his sternum. Had he really been that small once upon a time? Seeing Miss Weasley conscious and apparently in control of all her faculties he was pleased. Now she was purged of the daemonic it was possible she would be quite useful to have in his entourage once she'd grown up; definitely somebody to keep an eye on, but first one last check. He strode around the staring Weasley parents. Opening his mind's eye, he checked the small girl-child again. She appeared clear of any trace. But he could see quite clearly that she had been touched by the God-Emperor himself. Nothing tainted could survive the touch of something so pure. He drew back satisfied she was safe, opening his eyes on to the normal world.

The small girl-child smiled timidly up at him, "Am I...am I free of _it_?" she asked hopefully.

Carrow gave a small nod, "you appear to be clean of the abomination's taint."

"But..." she asked sensing there was reason for trepidation.

"But you can never be completely sr. It is best to be...cautious," he finished pleased she understood the situation to some degree.

Ginny gazed down at her fingers twined in the hospital blanket before looking back up at her giant saviour. "It would have been better if I'd died wouldn't it?"

Carrow was mildly impressed, people as a whole didn't want to die, but the acceptance in the child's eyes... she understood. "It would have made the situation a little...simpler if I'd killed you."

Ginny nodded her acceptance.

Unable to contain themselves any more the horrified Weasley parents exploded.

"Who the hell do you think you are?!"

"You horrible man, you shouldn't be allowed near children!"

"Nobody is talking about dying..."

"What in Merlin's name is going on here?"

"Ginny, what...what happened?"

Ginny looked up at her father close to tears. "There was a small diary in my school things when we came back from Diagon Alley last summer. I thought...I thought you'd got it for me as a little gift for starting school. I...started using it and...and it wrote back to me," she finished in a whisper.

Carrow felt like pounding his own head against the nearest wall. He'd know it had to be an external source but a book...simple and brilliant; a small common object easily hidden away. Who would think anything odd was occurring when they spotted a student writing in what looked like a notebook?

"Oh Ginny!" Mrs Weasley gasped utterly horrified.

"Ginny, haven't I told you, all of you," Mr Weasley included his sons giving them pointed looks, "don't trust anything that appears to be able to think for itself, if you can't see were its brains are kept. There are some very dangerous, very dark objects out there."

The girl's father was bordering on hysterical Carrow observed, and though the man's advice was admirable, it was flawed.

"There are many people and creatures that you should be careful of too" he quietly stated making the adult Weasleys jump. "Miss Weasley, when the diary appeared among your belongings, did you notice anybody or anything strange at the time? Did anyone approach you? Did anything odd happen?" It was a forlorn hope that the girl would remember anything but he had to try.

Ginny looked thoughtfully at her fingers. "Oh!" she exclaimed looking up at him sharply, "there was the fight with Lucius Malfoy!"

Carrow raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Dad and Mr Malfoy had a fist fight in Flourish and Blotts" she continued. Mr Weasley groaned, embarrassed, his face flushing red. Mrs Weasley glared at him.

"Yes, I remember, they knocked over my cauldron with my school books in. Mr Malfoy picked one up and made a comment about second hand things before giving it back to me," she paused, her expression thoughtful, "I think...the diary was there after that, but I don't remember it before."

Carrow smiled like a shark; he needed a little more evidence before he could act, but sometimes suspicion of a crime was almost as good an admission of the crime. By handing out tainted objects, and consorting with the daemonic, Malfoy had signed his own death warrant. It was just a matter of time and opportunity.

"Thank-you Miss Weasley, you have been most helpful" the large man purred.

As he turned to leave Carrow felt a tugging on his sleeve, looking down revealed a desperate Mr Weasley looking for answers.

"Excuse me, but...what happened?" the worried father asked. "The Headmaster wasn't really able to answer our questions, and you seem to know more..."

Carrow considered the thin red-headed man, hair receding, slightly shabby clothes, tired and worried. How much of the truth should he tell someone like this? How much could he cope with?

As he carefully explained the events of the past year, the Weasley parents became increasingly grey-faced with the horror of the events being recounted. Maybe he'd overestimated their ability to cope or was it just the worry of a parent for their offspring. He'd be the first to admit he was no expert in this area of human psychology.

The sound of the Infirmary door distracted him from the suffering of the Weasley. Seeing Snape had entered with Natasha in tow he went to greet the man. Natasha, as usual, was pleased to see him and proceeded to shadow him tucking her tiny hand in to his. Snape, on the other hand, was closed off and unhappy, with his arms crossed defensively across his chest hiding behind his lank curtains of hair.

"Severus," Carrow murmured. Dark eyes peered up at him. Carrow checked the man yet again for any sign of taint, he was pretty sure the man was clean not having come in to physical contact with the abomination but it was best to be completely certain. The normally reserved and controlled man seemed to have been affected greatly by his experience as well as the emotional outburst he experienced afterwards. Carrow had a feeling that this may have something to do with the man's even surlier than normal behaviour.

"Severus," Carrow began, "I have witnessed hardened veterans of many battlefields put their guns to their heads and blow their own brains out on encountering such as the abomination that temporarily inhabited Miss Weasley. You have nothing to be ashamed of."

Snape was looking up at him eyes wide, mouth open as if he wanted to say something.

"If I hadn't had you with me," Carrow continued, "I would have had to kill Miss Weasley. It is because of you and your courage and strength of will that she still lives."

Snape was now blushing Carrow was amused to see, "thank you," the smaller man finally whispered.

Seeing an opportunity for a little fun Carrow hustled Snape towards the shaken Weasley family, Natasha trailing along behind.

"Mrs Weasley," Carrow announced, causing the shaken woman to startle, "Professor Snape here was instrumental in saving your daughter's life. If it wasn't for his courage and bravery I would have been forced to end Ginevra's life," he paused momentarily, "I was merely pest control."

The sheer gratitude in the senior Weasleys' eyes terrified Snape and it was all directed at him, Carrow having melted in to the background with a smirk.

Mr Weasley enthusiastically shook his hand, practically in tears, and then Mrs Weasley flung her arms around him enveloping him in a rib-creaking hug, sobbing all the while. He nervously patted her on the shoulder. Even the children, including Miss Weasley approached with smiles and gratitude. He had a horrible feeling that the Weasley's now considered themselves in his debt, and that he was never going to be rid of the horribly over-emotional Gryffindors.

As Carrow left the Apothecorium smirking to himself he was intercepted by Miss Weasley. The small girl-child gazed up at him solemnly, "if I should go like _that_ again please, kill me. I don't think I'd survive it again."

Carrow considered the child, "Miss Weasley, I will kill you if such an event occurs again," he replied seriously, "you have my word."

The girl-child smiled up at him relieved and happy. "Thank you," she whispered, quickly hugging him before trotting back to her family and the flushed and flustered Severus Snape.

OOOOOO

Lucius Malfoy strode up the drive towards Hogwarts School determined to get to the bottom of the mystery of the strange events his son had been reporting to him.

Much to his puzzlement there had only been two unexplained incidences at the school in the months before Christmas; all the rest of the year's events could be laid quite firmly at the feet of one Allesandor Carrow. Draco had faithfully reported Gilderoy Lockhart's strange disappearance and Carrow's appointment as stand-in Defence Professor, and then his letters had become oddly formal and distant. While Crabbe and Goyle were gleefully writing home with tales of killing acromantula and gaining points for technique and other such outlandish fare, Draco's missives were comparatively staid and quiet. What had altered his son's behaviour so dramatically? Yet another mystery, though he had a suspicion that it would lead back to Carrow.

Ah yes...Carrow. Well, there had been the poisoning debacle which had failed miserably. He was still having difficulties believing something as dangerous as Mordred's Breath had only given the man mild stomach ache. The usual methods were obviously not going to work against him, and that probably included having the man mugged to order in Knockturn. Lucius sighed heavily; anything else he'd been able to come up with would be very difficult to pass off as an unfortunate event. Why did life have to be so difficult?

It was only a matter of days before the large man's special bill went through and he was acknowledged as being legally an adult. Lucius wasn't sure how he felt about this; on the one hand he would finally have a worthy opponent who understood politics as he did; but on the other hand he would have a political rival who understood politics as he did and had their own agenda. He doubted the Wizengamot would be big enough for the both of them.

As he rapped smartly on the main doors to the Castle with his cane, he had come to the conclusion that no matter what, the next few months were going to see a dramatic change in the politics of the British Wizarding World.

OOOOOO

As he entered the Headmaster's office, Lucius gazed around imperiously, the usual mess of occasional tables and ridiculous little trinkets revealed. Lucius was fairly certain that most of them were pretty pointless. The one nearest to him, a cross between a tuning fork and a wind-chime, was busily counting dust-motes in the air, but the one that was several yards to his left, the exploded orrary, was probably a dark-magic detector. This sort of thing was what made Dumbledore a tricky customer; he may have been a Gryffindor but he had a way of thinking that most Slytherins would envy. And there was the man himself, sitting behind his desk playing the role of benign grandfather as usual. Lucius blinked in shock, the man looked as if he'd aged forty years; obviously prolonged contact with Carrow was bad for you health. Stuffing his shock away Lucius proceeded with his plan.

"Ah, Headmaster," Lucius purred, "it has come to the attention of the governors that there have been some extremely dangerous...incidents over the past school year. Some of us are starting to question your judgment."

Dumbledore gazed thoughtfully up at the ceiling. There had indeed been a series of most unfortunate events this school year. Though Carrow had perpetrated quite a lot of them, he had been highly effective at containing the ones he hadn't. The Headmaster dreaded to think what would have happened if the irritating man hadn't been around. It would be interesting to know which incidents Lucius was interested in.

"I'm afraid, Lucius, that you're going to have to refresh my failing memory. Which incidents in particular are you referring to?"

Lucius frowned. He was sure the Headmaster knew exactly what he was talking about. "The petrifications before Christmas I believe were of particular concern. The students' families must be quite distraught at their condition."

Dumbledore hummed to himself. So Lucius was interested in the events Carrow had proved were directly linked to poor Ginevra Weasley and the object that had been planted on her at the beginning of the year.

"Nothing more than a couple of minor magical accidents. We quickly remedied the situation, Lucius, and the students involved were soon back in class." Dumbledore smiled reassuringly at the younger man, who seemed quite unhappy with the answer.

"How..." Lucius began but Dumbledore held up a hand forestalling him, "Mr Carrow was of great assistance in both cases and quickly undid the harm."

"And the perpetrator?" Lucius ground out.

"Dealt with" Dumbledore simply stated. "If you wish to know more, I'd recommend talking to Mr Carrow."

The sheer glee in the Headmaster's expression was enough to make Lucius feel quite unsettled. What had occurred here?

"Since Mr Carrow is here at present, why don't you ask him yourself?" the Headmaster continued, smiling sweetly and gesturing to Lucius' right. Frowning, Lucius followed the gesture with his gaze. Eyes widening he took in the massive, dark and brooding presence of Allesandor Carrow. He swore the man hadn't been in the room when he'd arrived, and he hadn't sensed a disillusionment charm at all, so how...he pulled himself together.

"Mr Carrow." Lucius nodded politely in greeting.

Carrow inclined his head, never taking his eyes off the smaller man, his expression predatory.

"Some of the governors came to me with tales of bullying and intimidation, and something about a vote of no confidence a couple of weeks ago," Dumbledore mused, twiddling his thumbs, gazing out of the large windows of his office.

"And how curious it is that a...toy of this Dark Lord of yours found its way in to the Castle" Carrow continued, his unnaturally deep voice cold and hard.

Lucius stared up at the man, intimidated despite his best efforts.

"But not to worry," Carrow continued smiling down at Lucius like a tiger, "the corrupt object had been destroyed utterly."

And it had too. At the same time Carrow had obliterated the warp creature, the diary had burst in to flames, destroying Ginerva Weasley's bed, her school bag, and quite a few of her other possessions. It was fortunate that the students had been at dinner at the time.

"So as you can see," Dumbledore continued, "the situation had been resolved satisfactorily and so there is nothing to worry about" he finished with a beaming smile, eyes twinkling.

"Why don't I walk you to the front gates Mr Malfoy," Carrow asked, "it's such a pity you've had a wasted journey."

Lucius had no choice but to accept and allow Carrow to sweep him through the school and down the front drive as they discussed ministry trivia and possible topics that would be discussed at the upcoming Wizengamot session. As they reached the gates Carrow offered his hand to Lucius. Thinking nothing of it, he shook hands with the large man trying not to shiver under his cold gaze and cruel smile, before apparating away.

OOOOOO

In a rare moment (these days) of high spirits, Dumbledore was dancing around his office singing "tiptoe round the tulips" rather badly at the top of his voice, much to the disgust of the various portraits around the rooms who were busily shouting abuse and making rude hand gestures at the euphoric man. But Dumbledore was far too happy to take much notice. Carrow's special bill had finally been passed, and Carrow himself had officially moved into the Lodge, taking Natasha and that blasted security golem with him; the whole atmosphere of the Castle seemed brighter, happier, more amusing. When dear Minerva rushed into the room he just had to grab her and do a spirited waltz around the office.

"Albus!" shouted Minerva desperately trying to get the full attention of the hyper Headmaster, "Lucius Malfoy is dead."

In the sudden silence of the office it was possible to hear a pin drop. Albus stared incredulously at his deputy, mouth hanging open, good mood plunging like the proverbial lead balloon.

"How?" Albus asked expecting foul play.

"Well, the attending healer from St Mungo's put it down to natural causes, specifically a massive stroke," Minerva explained frowning, "except as we all know wizards don't really die from strokes."

The Headmaster nodded. It was a well known fact that their magic protected them from a whole range of mundane illnesses that brought many a muggle low, including stroke. Instead there was a whole range of magical diseases that they suffered but that was beside the point. Who had Lucius been with last? They might never...and then it struck him; out of his office window he had seen Lucius shake hands with Carrow.

"He's making his first moves," Dumbledore whispered.

"Who?" Minerva asked.

"Carrow," Dumbledore hissed, dread filling his bones.

OOOOOO

It was the summer session of the Wizengamot and time had been set aside to commemorate the memory of the late Lucius Malfoy. Each member of the house stood and said their piece until they got to the newest member.

Clad in his black Wizengamot robes he cut an imposing, forbidding figure; somebody had tried to insist that his robes had to be red like everybody else's but it was very quickly decided that an unspoken exception would be made in Carrow's case.

Carrow politely inclined his head to Narcissa Malfoy, "may I offer my condolences on the untimely passing of Lucius Malfoy to you and your son. His death is a great loss to the Wizarding Community of this country."

Narcissa Malfoy gracefully accepted the newest Wizengamot member's commiserations wondering internally just how much Carrow knew about her husband's death. It was probably best not to know.

Dumbledore watched nervously; he was certain Carrow was starting to play out his plans. The question was, would the Wizarding World of Britain survive?

OOOOOO

A certain professor of physics was cautiously sorting through his post wary of what had become the almost weekly report from the rabid Inquisitor, in Scotland of all places. He was still deciding what to do about the man before he caused too much havoc. At the moment he seemed to be concentrating on gaining as much economic power as he physically could within the Western financial markets and beyond. The thought of what he planned to do with it eventually was quite hair-raising.

A corner of a parchment envelope peeked out from under a pile of lecture invites. The Physics Professor almost groaned, his feelings turning to puzzlement when he pulled the envelope out. It wasn't the usual brick-like thing from Carrow at all and the writer had actually addressed the front,

To the God-Emperor,

CERN,

Somewhere in Geneva,

Switzerland,

I hope this gets to you,

in purple ink. He nearly put it on the loony-bin pile for that alone. But it was a parchment envelope, and there were traces of a psychic imprint that tasted strongly of worry and stress. Reluctantly he opened it. The letter inside was also written in purple ink on official stationary for..."Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry". He'd never heard of the place, a school for...psykers maybe, which would require a whole culture of psykers to support it, one that must be carefully hidden away from casually scrutiny. He'd been concentrating so much on all the exciting scientific advancements that were the future of the human race that these people had completely slipped him by.

The tone of the letter was slightly hysterical; the writer was apparently living in close proximity to Inquisitor Carrow which explained a lot. Carrow would probably drive most sane and rational people to use purple ink.

Maybe he should write back to this...Dumbledore...and what was a Supreme Mugwump anyway?


End file.
